


First Steps

by Ellisaed



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Cute, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description, Humor, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Teacher Obi-Wan, Young Anakin, Young Anakin Skywalker, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisaed/pseuds/Ellisaed
Summary: A look into the ups, downs and milestones that helped form Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker's relationship in their first months together as Master and Apprentice. Fluff, angst, humour and comfort. Set post-TPM.





	1. Force Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a fic that I started writing after having a million ideas of what Obi-Wan and Anakin did during their first few months being master and apprentice, and I love writing them. Some may be slightly OOC just because writing about their bond is so much fun, but nothing drastic. I'll hopefully post a new chapter every other day; if there are any scenarios you are dying to read about, let me know and I'll gladly consider writing it up! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Master Kenobi -"

"Can't talk now!" Obi-Wan was still growing used to being called that, "I'll find you later!"

"But . . ."

The trailing voice of the Jedi he passed - _who had it been?_ \- faded as Obi-Wan raced on through the slightly crowded halls of the Temple, feet skidding as he slid to a halt and paced up another flight of stairs.

The passerbys, by most, stepped aside at his clearing cries, though some he gently whizzed by with an apology.

"Have you seen my Padawan?"

All denied, shrugged, or simply shook their heads, none needing to ask just who he was looking for. It had taken mere hours for the Temple to learn of the rumoured Chosen One, none other than ten year old Tatooine vagrant Anakin Skywalker. Just ten years old he was, yes, yet stronger in the Force that anyone Obi-Wan had ever met - and possibly the strongest Jedi ever recorded.

Some Jedi still doubted the boys lable of "Force-Balancer", but could not deny his extraordinary skill, one he possessed not even months into his training. Yes, the Padawan was skilled, that Obi-Wan had learned very quickly. He was skilled at disappearing.

"Have you seen Anakin?" Obi-Wan repeated as he jogged past another Master, who denied his cries. He fought back a curse as he turned about on his heels, running back the way he came.

It was the fifth time he had lost the boy, since he had begun counting at least, and he was not proud of it. Ruthless, curious, fearless - Obi-Wan wondered why his late Master would ever entrust him with such a task in so much opposition to him. Obi-Wan believed in order; Anakin, however, believed in disarray, for not even in the second day of sharing quarters had he completely unsorted every piece of silverware they owned, lost two shoes and three study bookchips, and spilled his tea six times - five of those times being upon his Master.

Acceptance, yes, Obi-Wan had known from the beginning that he had to learn it. He could not expect Anakin to live up to his ever reasonable yet sometimes difficult standards, for no one seemed to, much to Obi-Wan's bewilderment. If the option had been given, the newly Knighted Jedi would not have taken the boy to train, not because of their already prominent . . . unsimilarities, but because Obi-Wan felt unsuit to teach him.

The notion was not one without reason; even an experienced Master would find hardship in the training of such a prodigy, and one troubled at that, and such a task was entrusted upon him. How quickly had he become learner to teacher? In the blink of a moment that had came to be reality, one still baffling and saddening to him. One wound in him and the boy that had not yet fully healed.

Was he ready? Or truly, had he been? For then, Obi-Wan had not a choice whether he felt so or not, despite the mishaps and uncertanties that often robbed him of his sleep and caused him to run about the Temple like a madman. He accepted the one given humbly. His Master had trusted him, him and him alone with the one who may grow up to be the saviour of the Force.

Qui-Gon Jinn had not been a foolish man. That did not mean, though, that he did not have a sense of humor.

Obi-Wan nearly tripped over his own feet as he slowed to a stop before a youngling clan strolling by, who hid their giggles behind tiny hands at his winded condition. The Caregiver of the group, who happened to be none other than Master Yoda himself, turned to the children in address, "What has come upon us, young ones? Or who, should I say, hm? Master Kenobi, we must greet."

"Hello Master Kenobi." They echoed simultaneously.

"Hello." Obi-Wan gave a half bow, anxious to continue on, "Master Yoda, if you will excuse me -"

"Lost something have you?" Yoda looked to him, green face twisted a bit in teasing, "Or someone?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say an excuse, but sighed. The younglings chittered and giggled again in response. "My Padawan has taken off again. I was speaking to Master Isleg outside of our quarters about the arrangements for the sparring tournament that is fast approaching, that I had agreed to assist before my Padawan was . . . my Padawan, and when I turned around, Anakin was gone."

"Running rampant, Padawans cannot be. Curiosity, overcome the boy again, I presume." Yoda smiled, "Much like another youngling I used to teach, not too long ago."

Obi-Wan returned the expression, "That was me, wasn't it? Funny how so soon I have forgotten."

"Forgotten childhood, Master Obi-Wan has young ones." Yoda looked to the children with a glint in his eye that Obi-Wan knew meant nothing good on his behalf. "Help him remember, you must."

At a wink from the Master, the younglings suddenly crowded Obi-Wan, tugging at his arms and legs and robes, and they took no time in pulling him to the marble floors, trying to tickle him and laughing themselves in glee. Obi-Wan feigned the attack as if it were real, letting them pin him down, but not without tweaking a few noses and ruffling a few heads of hair.

Master Yoda stood above him, his face nothing less than amusement, voice light as he spoke, "Young Skywalker, with the Initiates he is. Made a new friend, he has."

The depth of the statement caused Obi-Wan to twist his brow subconsciously, "New friend?"

"In the Archives, he is. Find out soon, you will."

Obi-Wan smiled to the children last as he rose, thanking Master Yoda again as he ran off.

* * *

 

Upon entering, the Archives were very noisy, noisier than usual. Young children strolled and skipped about the bookshelves and data computers, as did their respective Masters, but most, as Obi-Wan observed, were Initiates.

It did not take long for him to find Anakin, for he simply followed the sound of the voice he had quickly grown to recognize. The voice was bright, young and alight then in story, Obi-Wan could tell, as it most often was. As the Master rounded a shelf to see him, he couldn't hide the smile on his lips.

Anakin sat atop a stack of bookchips a good two feet tall, feet swinging earnestly and arms expressing the intent of the words he said. His sandy blonde hair had been cut but was growing fast, the small braid signifying apprenticeship dangling aside. Anakin was smiling the same boyish smile he had at their first encounter, back then simply a grimy slave boy and Obi-Wan nothing but bewildered at his Master for toting another "pathetic life form" along. The Jedi chuckled softly to himself, leaning against a shelf. _Little did I know . . ._

". . . and were they ever _huge_! They were probably bigger than this whole room, or just about half, and had giant turbo engines with so much exhaust you could smoke out a Hutt!"

"And you flew one of them?"

"Yep." Anakin bloated just a little, the look on his face an innocent pride. It was the same emotion Obi-Wan was still whittling away from him; haughtiness was one of his more troublesome aspects. "Right over the stadium, and let me tell ya they handle as smooth as Corellian ale - or that's how the dealer described them."

"No way! That's . . . what did you call it again?"

"Wizard!"

"Right, wizard!"

The one he spoke to, Obi-Wan did not recognize. Their back was to him, and he only saw a fall of curly auburn hair, stature causing him to suppose they were around Anakin's age. He listened intently to Anakin's story, recognizing it as one of their recent missions.

". . . but that was when my Master pulled out his lightsaber, and the thief sure was willing to stop very quickly."

"So, did he listen?" The other inquired.

"Oh yeah, are you kidding? No one out talks a Jedi, especially . . ."

Anakin looked up then instinctively and met his Master's gaze, smiling initially until he recognized the look on Obi-Wan's face. The boy winced.

"... Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Thank you for the compliment, my young Padawan, but it is in my nature to ask: what are you doing here?"

Anakin spoke quickly, as he often did, "Well, while you were busy talking with Master Isingel -"

"I _sleg_."

"Right, right, I saw some kids going into the Library, so I decided that while you were busy, instead of distracting you I could go talk to them until you were done."

"And had you any intention of returning in the next few hours?" Obi-Wan asked, folding his arms. "You realize you have not been in my presence for three."

"Wow." Anakin rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling softly, "Time flies, doesn't it?"

"We will speak of this later." Obi-Wan said, with solemnity in his eyes that meant " _later means tonight_ ", knowing full well of the boys slippery skills. Anakin nodded. "In the mean time, why don't you introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh yeah!" Anakin sprung up off the teetering stack of books, pointing to the other, "Obi-Wan, this is my friend Aure'lia; Aure'lia, this is my Master, Obi-Wan."

The Initiate stood and bowed low, rising again to meet Obi-Wan with bright cerulean eyes. He paused, in a haze of retrospect for a moment, at a memory of his Master that flooded his vision.

It was a time Qui-Gon had been with him on an extended mission, underground on a system he could not recall. They had both been exhausted beyond measure and worn beyond belief and at the end of their ration stores and strength. Obi-Wan had, knowing the fate that dangled dangerously above them, finally expressed what he knew his Master would not: they were dying.

The man always had a way about him that made it seem that he could speak stars into existence simply by the force of his own stubborn will - and as unbelievable as it seemed, he could make others believe it to be true. Qui-Gon had turned a bit, face lit only by a weakening torch light, and gave the young boy a smile. His inset blue eyes had been shadowed, hidden slightly by his shelf of greying brow, but captured Obi-Wan's attention like they always could. It was like being drowned in a clear sea rolling with waves of wisdom, strength and kindness.

Obi-Wan was taken as the memory flooded back. It had been one of their first missions as a pair. He could see the images of his Master and him together, lost and unsure and so terribly hopeful it almost hurt. They had been so young -

"Master? He does this sometimes . . ." Anakin shook Obi-Wan with as much childish force he could, "Master! You in there?"

Obi-Wan looked to his apprentice, and back to the girl who searched him concernedly.

"Are you alright, Master Kenobi?" Aure'lia asked softly; the eyes seemed to reflect what he felt, though they had just met.

"Fine," Obi-Wan managed, giving a smile, "Just fine."

"Good. Kinda thought you might have gone all Force crazy on me." Anakin laughed, and Aure'lia joined him in a giggle.

"And what do you mean by that?" Obi-Wan sensed the hidden joke, but the two only laughed harder. He rolled his eyes. _Padawans_.

"I was just telling Aure'lia of the first time I saw you sense a disturbance in the Force, and you went blank just like you did." Anakin spoke between chuckles, "And . . . I thought you went Force crazy."

They laughed harder then, Anakin holding his middle and Aure'lia covering her mouth. Obi-Wan still stared at them, perplexed.

"Well, lucklily for both of you, I am not, am I?"

"Sure." They said together.

Anakin gave a sigh, wiping tears from his eyes, "Aure'lia told me her class is going on a field trip today, right E'lia?"

Aure'lia nodded, "To the Senate. We'll be leaving soon."

"We won't hold you up any longer then." Obi-Wan saw from the corner of his eye what he presumed was the girl's group being lead by a Jedi Master make their way towards the Library doors, "Come, Anakin."

The three stood in silence for a moment. The Master sent his apprentice a look, one the boy needed no words to decipher. Anakin scowled.

"Obi-Wan -"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat at the improper address. Anakin nearly rolled his eyes, but corrected himself.

"Master, do I _really_ have to leave? Can't I go along with them? I won't be a bother, I swear!"

Obi-Wan didn't give in, "I have a better idea. Why don't we go check out a study chip before we leave?"

Anakin made a face, " _Another_ one?"

However, the boy again recognized the look on his Master's face, and gave a small, sad wave to Aur'elia before finding his place at his Master's side and following in step with him.

* * *

 

Not soon after Obi-Wan had found Anakin, distracted by a group of sparring Padawan Learners, and practically dragged him toward their quarters, was the boy pressing him for answers to his flood of questions, like usual.

 

"So, you _didn't_ go Force crazy - I mean, sense a disturbance earlier, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then what happened?"

"I was reminded of a memory."

"Oh, 'bout who?"

"It's not important."

"Was it about me?"

"No."

"Was it someone I know?"

"Anakin. You are going to make me very upset if you do not stop asking."

"But if it's unimportant, why can't you just _tell_ me?"

"Because it does not concern you, and it's a very long story -"

"I'm up for long stories." Anakin looked up to his Master in hopeful suggestion, but Obi-Wan's steely gaze told the boy his answer. With a huff, the Padawan surrendered, raising his hands, "Fine, I'll stop. But just after this one thing -"

"I do not recall us yet talking about you running off today, have we?"

Obi-Wan looked to the boy, who had suddenly grown quieter than the halls orange with dusk, shadowed by skyscrapers. A smile pleasured the Master at the sound, and the two strolled in it back to their quarters, his mind in retrospect whether he realized it or not.

What if fate had changed its tune, and Qui-Gon had instead taken Anakin as his apprentice? The glimpsing reminder of the bond he had shared with the man not only filled him with nostalgia, but made him hope for such a thing for his own apprentice. Such clarity, such brightness. He savoured the thought, looking down at the boy he was just beginning to bond with. A boy destined for misadventure, for hope, for greatness. The young Master only hoped for such for the Padawan. It was what Qui-Gon would have wanted. Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's young shoulder and rubbed gently.

 _The will of the Force,_ he thought to himself, imagining his Master saying the words in succession.

_The will of the Force._


	2. Ani

Anakin Skywalker's nickname had come about synonymously with his full name, so it seemed. Anakin himself had not truly realized his full name until he was last least six years old, responding to his mother's loving call of the shortened version of his name "Ani" much more often.

It was small and sweet, as he had been as a small child, warm like his mother's embrace. It had been used in admonishment, stern with warning, able to halt any action Anakin had been doing faster than he could blink. It had been laughed, at times when the boy would jump out behind doors to give a scare or made a funny face. It was repeated as a soothing measure during the darker, harder nights of slavery, when the two of them would hold tightly to one another as if they were all they had.

"Ani" persisted even as he grew, used by friends and others he was close to. Upon the fateful arrival of Qui-Gon Jinn and his company, the man had picked up the title quickly and naturally; Anakin heard safety in the tone, a sense of trust in the Jedi's low lilt as he called him to his side. After the Battle on Naboo, however, when he was officially on his way to become a Jedi himself and separated from Padme and Jar-Jar who had both used the nickname, it had begun to fade.

Obi-Wan had always been diligent in social etiquette - much to his own Master's dismay. No matter how often the maverick Qui-Gon had nudged the boy to call him by his first name, his Padawan would have nothing of it. Respect, as he believed, was something expressed in not just actions but words, and Obi-Wan was continually teaching this to Anakin. It was daily - hourly, even - that Anakin would casually address him by his first name, and each time Obi-Wan would gently correct him.

 _Master_ , he would chide, and Anakin would sigh and repeat the word. Now, it was a wordless gesture, a simple look signalled the boy of his error, and he would reply with a subtle half-eye roll at the correction.

Anakin was sure that Obi-Wan, the one who called him apprentice and Padawan and young one and even better "my very young apprentice", would be the last person in the galaxy to ever use his nickname. Anakin figured his Master did not even know it existed. Thus, he had resigned the title to his memory, tucking it away with the other things he put aside in a special corner of his mind, rich with nostalgia and the taste of his mother's soup, the feel of Qui-Gon's reassuring hand on his shoulder and the sight of the Tatooine sky at night.

It was something gone, in the past. Or at least he had thought it was.

* * *

 

A huff of exhaustion, a last-ditch effort of catharsis at the end of a long day, lead Obi-Wan into the room of his quarters finally. Surprisingly, when the door slid open, he stepped in to find the lights dimmed down low. _Perfect_ , he mused, _Anakin has finally realized how much energy he wastes having them full power all night._

"Anakin, I'm back."

Obi-Wan flicked on a switch with his elbow, arms carrying one too many data pads from the Archive Library that Master Nu had insisted would "assist his research". Of course, the young Master had never asked to be tasked with charting the history of the Fromudian Dynasty but it seemed that the Council saw him "suitable to take on the job". It was not like they didn't know he had only spent one week with his new Padawan, that they were still trying to adjust to one another, trying both to teach and learn in one way or another. Obi-Wan knew this, even more so remembering the familiar glint in Master Yoda's eye and the half-smirk of Mace Windu as the Council had detailed his responsibilities. Extensive, meticulous, time-consuming responsibilities.

"' _Keep you on your toes, it will, yes, hm_!'" Obi-Wan imitated the coarse yet playful tone of Master Yoda as he kicked his boots off too sore feet, "Hm. Nothing like searching the Archives for four hours to do that … Padawan?"

The boy should have been back from his nightly sparring troupe by then, considering the hour, but it was only quiet inside the quarters. _Suspiciously_ quiet. Entering the kitchenette, Obi-Wan set down his stack of data pads and was surprised to see the sink stacked with dishes. Still stacked with dishes. At least two day's worth, now.

Obi-Wan physically stopped himself in that moment. He closed his eyes, taking in a breath slowly. He had to remind himself - _often_ \- that his method of thinking was not universal. That the things that could drive him up the wall could to others be as insignificant as a stone under their shoe. That certain young apprentices were just that, young and learning, and that as the Master he needed to be the teacher.

_He certainly makes the job difficult, though, doesn't he?_

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan called, tiredly wriggling out of his robe, "Come here, please."

Yet again he managed a sigh, sitting gently down at their small dinner table in wait. Just that week he had started the young one with a list of chores, reading in one of his pedagogy data pads that it helped apprentices manage responsibilities and breed diligence. Initially he had asked Anakin if he would be comfortable with the arrangement, still being sensitive of his recent past. Certainly, the small tasks he chose would amount nothing close to slavery, but the sensitivity was still there. The blonde boy had shrugged, seeming open to the idea of lending a hand when he could. _I'm good at sweeping_ , he had quipped, _got a lot of practice with all the sand_. Obi-Wan had smiled, and they had chosen together what the boy's three daily chores would be. First, sweeping. Second, folding their linens and sending any soiled ones to be cleaned. And thirdly, doing dishes.

"Anakin … I know you can hear me. I won't ask you again."

The week had only started, and the boy had put off his chores twice. Obi-Wan had not lifted a finger to do the job for him. The floors were growing dustier and they had almost run out of clean towels. This past morning had been the third day without progress. Anakin had only looked slightly admonished when Obi-Wan had reminded him sternly of his duties, though he seemed more concerned when he had reached into the cupboard for a cup to find it empty. He had left for his morning classes with no breakfast, as a result of the lack of clean dishes.

A pattern Obi-Wan was already sensing. As headstrong as he was, Anakin seemed to be his match. The Master was still not sure how far he could nudge the boy until he would wobble, how hard he could push him before he would budge, how strict he could be before he would comply.

Was he ever like this as a young one? The question crossed his mind as Obi-Wan rose and strolled toward the boy's bedroom, knowing the answer all too well and disliking it just as much: of course. All the teasing Qui-Gon had put him through in his later apprenticeship years was probably payback for all the times he had vexed the man as a stubborn young one.

One day, maybe - hopefully - Obi-Wan would get to use that same method.

"It's a little late for hide and seek, young one." He knocked twice on half-closed door of Anakin's room, tripping on the boys discarded shoes at the doorway. Why did he leave them here? _That's odd._

Obi-Wan, for the first time, summarized all of the odd occurrences around him with an outside eye, putting aside his fatigue and frustration. The quiet, the dimness, discarded items here and there ... there wasn't even the smell of food from the boy's dinner. Too many things were amiss for this to be simple disobedience, even for Anakin. The air around him felt stale without the boy's chatter, and there was a pang that hit him in the Force at his sudden search for clarity.

His bond with the boy was still newborn, but it existed. And it whispered softly to him with unease.

Obi-Wan pushed the door to Anakin's private quarters open without second thought, and was faced with the disheveled, messy room of a young boy, but found no one inside.

"Anakin!" The young Master called, a new urgency present in the tone. He moved quickly to check his own bedroom in the off chance the boy was there, but found nothing.

 _The fresher?_ Obi-Wan swivelled on his heels and ran across their quarters to the small room adjacent to the kitchen, throwing open the door, "Anakin - "

He was there. Anakin was lying on the cold floor, as if he had been shoved there, limbs retreating inward toward himself as if protectively, pulled close in the fetal position. His feet were bare, toes curling in time with what seemed like stabs of pain. A mop lay discarded beside him, as well as a few bottles of cleaning products.

 _Oh no._ Obi-Wan felt a breath leave him in a stab of relieved shock. Though it certainly had been a while since he had taken his Rudimentary Chemist class, he knew enough of what must have happened by what he saw strewn about the floor. It was not good, not at all, but at least he knew what was wrong.

Obi-Wan's robe sleeve covered his mouth in an instant, while the other hand found his comlink. He pushed the transmission button as he whispered, "This is Master Kenobi, requesting emergency medical attention to Personal Quarters Level 3, room 351."

"Request received," The voice on the other end said, an attending healer in the Medical Halls, "What is the nature of the emergency Master?"

"Possible poisoning, ingestion of airborne toxins - it's my apprentice, he is only ten years old."

"We are sending help now, Master. If possible, remove yourselves from the affected area and remain calm until you are attended to."

At the voices, the boy on the floor stirred, and a warmth came over Obi-Wan in relief. He stumbled to kneel at Anakin's side, turning the body over and cradling his shoulders in his arm.

Anakin trembled in a feverish shock. His skin was a pale tinted sickly and a sheen of sweat lay restless atop it. His tunic was damp and gathered at his underarms, and his sweaty hands gripped at the front of Obi-Wan's robe. The Master, too, trembled, but for a different reason.

"The med staff are coming. I'm going to carry you to the front room, alright?"

Obi-Wan asked the question out of habit, already standing and moving before the boy managed to nod. For some reason, now in this fragile state, his body seemed weightless, thin like porcelain. He was reminded too well of a time alike to this too soon past, cradling his Master in his arms; Obi-Wan didn't want to set him down. He sat, instead, on the floor with him.

"Obi- ... Master -" Anakin broke into a fit of coughing.

"Shh, relax young one," Obi-Wan hushed him, eyes meeting the boy's hazy, wandering gaze and holding it steadily. "Take deep breaths, don't try to talk."

"Where are we?"

"… the front room, as I said."

"I can't see."

Obi-Wan noticed the blue eyes looked cloudy, cloudier than the usual pastel wash they held, cloudier they should have been. The chemicals he had seen were strong, strong enough to afflict the young one to faint, and certainly potent enough to burn; even to a point that could cause blindness.

Obi-Wan didn't let it show that it concerned him greatly, but reassured the boy, "It's alright, it will pass. It's just fine."

"... I - I dunno ... what happen ... what happened."

"You've mixed some chemicals together, bleach and ammonia. They are safe on their own but toxic when combined. You're lucky I found you when I did."

"Mopping ... I was ... trying to." Anakin's speech was delirious and strained. "I wanted t-to _help_ you."

"You're going to be alright." Obi-Wan said, somewhat for his own sake.

"Hmm." The noise came out in a small laugh, and Anakin's body, which had calmed significantly within his Master's embrace, let out a sigh. "I'm … sorry, I - I … I'm not very good at being … good, or obeying rules and I've never been and - "

"Padawan - "

"I know you were for Qui-Gon, and I - I just wanted to show you, so maybe … even if I couldn't be as good as you, I could be good enough, and you'd see ... I'm sorry -"

"Ani."

The name rolled off Obi-Wan's tongue as if it had been there, waiting, for some time. Loosed by fear and regret, and nudged to the brink by Anakin's desperate pleas. A flush washed over the young Master, but he made no correction to take it back.

"There's nothing you can do, no rules you can follow or tasks you can complete that will make you a better apprentice. I am not looking to create someone who obeys at my beck and call like a pet, or … or a slave."

Obi-Wan hesitated at the use of the word, but went on, "I was just as disobedient and headstrong at the age you are now. I only want to teach you, so that you may grow. Grow to be a better man than I, someday. I have … we have been placed together for a reason. I could not have ever asked for an apprentice quite like you, but you have made me so proud, even yet. If you are honest and obedient to the Force, no mistakes you make or rules you break will change that."

Strangely, Obi-Wan saw his own vision blur, reminding himself of similar words his former Master had once said to him. He finished, quietly, "And I will be here, by your side. Do not ever think otherwise."

Anakin, somehow in the midst of his discomfort, smiled softly. "You … said it."

"Hmm?"

"You said … the first time, you called me … Ani." The boy blinked, eyelids heavy.

"Stay awake, Anakin." Obi-Wan said firmly, "Stay with me, now."

"… Ani."

The boy laughed again, delirious beyond true consciousness, and just then the front door to their quarters was opened and allowed in a rush of medical staff and a flurry of sudden commotion. Two Healers assisted Obi-Wan to stand and lift Anakin's still trembling form onto the gurney that three other Masters stood aside. Lights shone, and voices picked up in question as they assessed the Padawan's condition. Then they were moving out the door in a rush, Obi-Wan following anxiously at their heels, not bothering to put on his shoes or even a proper robe.

As he kept pace, watching the quiet expression on Anakin's face every so often from between the silhouettes of the Healers, Obi-Wan doubted his apprentice would remember any of the heartfelt words he had spoken to him. It had been one of the first times to become emotional before the boy, at least out of something other than frustration or chiding. Yes, it was likely Anakin would remember nothing come the morning.

Nothing, besides one word.


	3. You Don't Have to Be Sad

One of Obi-Wan's first realizations of the reality of his new title of Jedi Knight occurred upon looking in the mirror.

Of course, it had only been a matter of weeks since his Master had gone on, and the boyish features of Padawanhood were still as evident as they had been. His eyes were still free of those well-worked creases Qui-Gon has sported, the ones that wrinkled the corners of his eyes in expression of both smile and disgust. His forehead was still smooth, not marked by lines of worry or concern. His Master had worn those well.

No, it was nothing as drastic as that. But as the young man washed his face as he did each night, the sensation beneath his hands literally and figuratively chafed the paper thin facade of his denial. Denial he didn't even realize existed until then, as it was grated against gently. It hurt something inside him, something that was clinging to him, something that felt like fragile innocence. Oh, how fragile it was, so fragile it hurt to confront it, to bring it into the light.

That light was his reflection in the mirror before him. But that light was glaring, far-reaching, and there was no going back.

Obi-Wan blinked as he took his image in. He gently stroked his cheek with the palm of his hand, feeling how raised the stubble of his hair had grown. _Stubble_ , he mused. He fooled himself with the word. The hair was visible, the slightest of ruddiness tinting in the light, certainly the makings of a full fledged beard in not but a few more days time.

The hand was lifted to run fingers splayed atop his head, through hair that was increasingly becoming fuller and longer. It had grown enough to need a comb daily, and a bit more of a wash in each shower. It had the ability to become unkempt, as seen by strays that dangled on his forehead that Anakin always seemed to point out to him.

Gone were the days of his Master ritualistically trimming his hair scalp short every other standard week, of ensuring he was clean shaven every morning by playfully patting Obi-Wan's face. With humour, the young Master recalled the hours he had spent as an Initiate practicing his braiding skills in his hopes of one day being an apprentice. With nostalgia he recalled how his friends would tug on his small ponytail to chide his pompous or snide comments. With pride, memories returned of each and every coloured silka bead Qui-Gon had gifted to him, those that his Master had help twist into his Padawan braid.

Obi-Wan had found himself, at times, habitually touching the spot where it had hung, as one who wore spectacles would do in the absence of their eyewear. When he would, that sensation, that paper thin fragility called innocence, would cling to him tighter and summon the pain again. He hated that sensation, so much so that he did not even think about it. Thinking about it grated against it too. It liked to be ignored; it did not hurt that way.

And so he had, for weeks. He had not yet cleared out Qui-Gon's drawers in what was now his bedside table. He had not yet changed their door marker from "Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi" to "Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker". Obi-Wan had even gone to the length of avoiding mirrors altogether.

Yet here he was, staring it in the face. The truth in his face, on his face. The balance of the naivety of his Padawanhood aside the maturity of his Knighthood. The obvious fact of the disappearance of one tipping in the favour of the other made him feel more than ill at ease. Though he had argued before the council only weeks ago - threatened by Qui-Gon's fervour to train Anakin Skywalker - that he was ready to face the trials, that had been a bitter lie he had tasted even before spitting out the words.

 _Ready?_ Master Yoda had questioned him, _What, know you, of ready?_ The comment had burned with truth. But ready or not, he was here now, survivor of the first battle with a Sith in decades, tasked with training an extremely gifted pupil who very well could restore balance to the Force

Obi-Wan did not feel ready. Force, he felt something worse than inadequate. Nothing had hurt him more in his years as a Padawan than being a disappointment. To himself, to the Jedi Order, and most importantly to his Master.

And that stared him in the face, in his reflection, in his tired eyes. It was painful. It was _awful_ , and stung him on the inside. He didn't know how to stop it. He doubted he could if he tried.

Tears were somehow brimming in his eyes before Obi-Wan really registered he was feeling emotional. Blast, Qui-Gon would have his way with me if he could see this, he thought ruefully as he brought more cool water from the tap up to rinse his warm eyes.

"Obi-Wan?"

The young Master heard the gentle knocking at the door at the same time the door opened. His apprentice peeked his head inside warily, but smiled when he caught his teacher's eye.

Anakin, dressed in his nightclothes, whispered, "Are you okay? You said you'd be five minutes and it's been almost fifteen! I'm already almost done reading the whole chapter of my bookchip."

Obi-Wan was quiet as he watched the boy enter the room and pull his small step stool up to stand beside him at the sink, unabashed.

"Do you usually enter the refresher unannounced when it is occupied? If so, this is a habit I must prune from you much sooner than later."

"Nah, I just knew you were probably washing your face, cleaning your teeth and ears ... y'know, your 'nightly routine'." Anakin stated matter-of-factly.

Obi-Wan grimaced slightly, "Am I that predictable?"

A scoff was released by the boy that answered the question. Anakin reached out and took his own toothbrush, that sat on the counter alongside his Master's, and rinsed it at he commented lightly, "You don't have to be sad."

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan turned his eyes to catch the blond boy in his vision, oblivious of the questioning gaze.

"Sad. You don't have to be, y'know. I can sense you're sad. And I can tell, by your eyes."

Anakin returned the extended glance, light blue eyes meeting and emanating that innocent empathy that he had learned quickly resonated with Obi-Wan. That stare that could capture him and hold him there, right there where he was, and keep him.

Obi-Wan stared back, in hesitation, in transparency, letting the boy in beneath his strong facade for maybe the first time. As if the waves of sorrow, his massive stormy sorrow, were meeting the shore and gently washing over the boys feet, just the first steps of his understanding, a taste of the tides of emotions he hoped and wished the boy would never have to experience. But something in those blue eyes told him he had already, even at just eleven years old, seen his own share.

That made this hurt even worse.

Anakin squeezed toothpaste onto the brush and spoke garbled amidst his task. "Y'know what Qui-Gon said? About you, after we first met?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, heart spiking in pace at this unknown conversation.

"I asked him what a Padawan Learner was, and what it meant and stuff, and he told me that you were his Padawan. Then I said 'If you're going to train me, what about Obi-Wan?', and he said that you would become a Jedi Knight, and I should take care to learn from your footsteps. That you were sometimes stubborn, and worrisome and st- ... um, study ... "

"Studious?"

"Yeah, _studious_ , but you were the kind of Jedi Knight he wished for me to be one day."

Anakin's eyes relaxed from squinting in meticulous recall of the memory, and went back to brushing his teeth. Obi-Wan, however, had stilled.

"He was smiling, when he said it." Anakin remarked, spitting into the sink, "So you don't have to be sad."

There was a silence that fell, and Anakin looked up from rinsing his mouth to Obi-Wan. He said softly.

"Master ... why are you crying?"

Again, he barely realized he was. Obi-Wan, under normal circumstances, would have dismissed the boy, dismissed his lack of emotional reservation, but none of that was on his mind. It was far away, forgotten like the stormy sorrow inside him that had suddenly quelled its relentless waves, soothing itself to a quiet.

His hand gripped the lip of the sink, a sudden weakness finding him, and Anakin reached for him and knelt down before him as he lowered himself to the floor.

"Master?" The young voice trembled in concern. "Are you okay?"

The young man nodded only.

"You sure?"

He nodded again.

"I didn't mean to make you more sad - "

"No, no, you didn't." Obi-Wan chuckled gently, "You did no such thing. I am just relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Anakin exhaled heavily, "Ah, good. You scared me for a minute. I thought I'd have to lie and say that didn't happen at all so you'd stop crying - "

The Master gave a gentle tug to the boy's braid, and he scrunched his neck with a protest and giggled. Obi-Wan dodged as Anakin grabbed at his wrist, causing him to slip back on the tiled refresher floors, and seconds later the boy had tackled him.

In that lighthearted moment, Obi-Wan felt he had settled his spirit. Ready or not, this boy was his Padawan, and he could not imagine anyone else in his place. There was no going back. This person, the changing person in the mirror, was a Jedi Knight. This person was Anakin Skywalker's Master. This person was stubborn, and studious, and worrisome. This person was someone who Qui-Gon Jinn was proud of. More than that, it was him.

And Obi-Wan could not imagine anyone else in his place.


	4. I'm Right Here

Obi-Wan would openly admit he had not exactly been prepared to become a Master. After all, he had not exactly been prepared to be a Jedi Knight when his late Master Qui-Gon Jinn had commended him to the Council, factor in the aspect of Anakin Skywalker or not.

Qui-Gon had believed in him, though Obi-Wan still was not sure why. Surely he knew, thanks to his Master, he was adequately trained to the highest standards of the Jedi Order. But still, he was clumsy, both physically and socially, and the idea of being thrust into the wide open world on his own was more scary than he could fathom.

Somehow, though, this fear was abated upon having young Anakin along the way with him.

Obi-Wan has stayed up all night upon first receiving his Padawan, reading every single parenting bookchip he could scour through in the Archives, studying and comparing the chapters on children's health and nutrition, on discipline and praise, and memorizing each helpful tip that came along the way. By the look she had given him upon signing twenty-seven bookchips from the library, he had figured Master Jocasta Nu was  _sure_  his turbolift didn't quite reach the top floor. At the time, Obi-Wan didn't have the energy to refute her.

One subject Obi-Wan saw reprised again and again in each of these books was the concept of assisting a child in overcoming their fears to achieve a milestone. Whether it was taking their first steps, sleeping through the night without a glow lamp or riding a jumpspeeder without stabilizers, all of these required deep trust in the parent to work through.

Obi-Wan had never thought that this concept would play out in his relationship with Anakin in such a concrete way - after all, the boy was barely a child anymore, and willful in his ways. There was nothing, it seemed, his determination couldn't conquer.

Nothing, except,  _maybe,_ his inability to swim.

* * *

"Jump!"

" _Jump_?! Are you going Force crazy? I can't jump!"

"Anakin, I'm right here."

"... how deep is it again?"

"It's hardly two metres."

"I can't touch the bottom!"

"Yes, that's the idea."

"H-how are you floating? Are you using the Force?"

"I'm only treading water, Padawan, just like we've been practicing in the shallow end. The constant movement of water keeps me afloat."

"Sure  _you_  can do that, but I can't!"

"Yes you can! You did an excellent job just a few minutes ago. It's the exact same concept, just a little more water."

"What if I get tired? If I can't touch the bottom and I get tired, what do I do?!"

"That's why I'm here. I'm right here."

The last phrase was the one that best seemed to dissuade the boy's temptations to flee. Instead of inching further and further from the lip leading into the small warm pool, his feet would still in pause. Obi-Wan took that as a good sign.  _He can do this._

This was the closest they had come so far, after nearly two weeks of practice, and not without their setbacks. Anakin was not adamant against learning to swim; when Obi-Wan had initially proposed the idea, he was enthusiastic. "If only Kitster could see me now - he bet me, once for fifteen credits, that I'd never learn how to swim!"

The bright blue eyes were alight with zeal and an impish quality that made Obi-Wan feel both encouragement and uneasiness. It was the same look that Qui-Gon used to give him before they jumped out of a moving airspeeder into rush hour traffic. As much as he trusted him, he knew the possibility for disaster followed close behind.

Swimming was an essential skill that any Jedi needed to master in their training. Obi-Wan could not-so-fondly recall his own swim training as an initiate, which basically consisted of him and his peers being tossed one by one into the water and forced to figure out the best way to stay alive. Some children screamed and cried, some chocked back water, while others contentedly floated on their backs until the exercise was over. It was probably secretly Master Yoda's favourite part of rearing the Initiates; somehow, Obi-Wan recalled him being present for every single one of their swim days, smiling that smirk that he could recognize anywhere.

Whatever the motivation, that method of teaching worked, at least with five year olds. Anakin, however, was a different story, and having grown up in a desert climate it was even more crucial of him to learn. Obi-Wan decided against tossing him into the pool, though he was tempted to after hearing Anakin's remark upon first seeing it, "Wow! This place smells just like the refresher after you sanisteam!" Yes, he had been  _very_  tempted.

Nevertheless, he was the Master, and he was determined to help his apprentice along. There had been two ground rules - or "water rules" as Anakin had playfully corrected him - that Obi-Wan had laid down during their first lesson. The first and most important rule was to never, ever, under  _any_  circumstances say "the word". That word was "drown".

"I am not teaching you to avoid drowning; you are going to learn to swim."

Anakin had nodded adamantly, with a stubborn look Obi-Wan chuckled at seeing. They had started simple, by sitting along the edge of the pool and then standing in the shallow end. Breath control exercises were accomplished by seeing who could blow bubbles face first in the water the longest; Anakin usually won, even when Obi-Wan was honestly trying. After a few days, Anakin had been comfortable floating on his back and his front, and could tread water for a minute and a half.

Obi-Wan was impressed at his apprentice's dedication, determination seen in his eyes whenever he presented Anakin with a new skill to master. Their lessons were not without a laugh, however. The two had found themselves in too many splashing wars to keep count. Anakin had taken to tugging down his Masters swim trunks after he learned he could open his eyes underwater - Obi-Wan's payback was seen in the red eyes the boy woke up to the next day. Anakin never failed to do the dead man's float in attempt to scare his Master; Obi-Wan could not help but roll his eyes.

It was all fun and games pretending to sink, until Obi-Wan had informed him it was time to move to the deep end of the pool - that had ended the teasing in its tracks. Initially, Anakin refused even the notion of it; he had spent two entire lessons sitting on the ledge, watching his Master swim, scowling down at the water. That was when Obi-Wan had reminded him of his second rule.

"Above all things, you need to trust me."

There was never any doubt that Anakin did not trust him, Obi-Wan knew. It was most likely that he did not yet trust himself, and that was something he could not teach him to do, but simply lead him to a place to make that choice. It seemed infinitely easier to the boy when Obi-Wan reminded him gently: "I'm right here."

Eventually, Anakin had been convinced to inch his way along the pool, grabbing the ledge desperately like a wet lothcat. The scowl on his face had disappeared when Obi-Wan had threatened to tug down his swim trunks if he caught up to him, and soon he was flying along the ledge so fast his palms were blistered by the end.

Now, here they were, at what should be the final step, albeit the most difficult of them all. Obi-Wan wouldn't admit it, but he felt just as scared as Anakin's big blue eyes screamed he was. Not the same sort of fear the boy felt, but a different kind. What if Anakin struggled? What if he resisted his Master's help? What if he stopped breathing? And what if, in the transpiring of any such events, his trust in Obi-Wan was lost.

Anakin feared a physical drowning, a natural and primal reaction to his possible demise. Obi-Wan, however, feared the death of a fragile trust.

Still searching the young boy's wavering gaze before him, he wasn't sure which fear was the rational one.

"Come now, young one. I'm getting pruned. Don't make me more wrinkled than Master Yoda."

"Ha ha, very funny."

The mock amusement summoned a real chuckle from the Master.

"You are overthinking this, Anakin. You are allowing your survival instincts to surpass your training. Remember our mindfulness lessons; clear your thoughts. Breathe."

The boy seemed to do so. And slowly, toes curling and goosebumps covering him in shivers, Anakin found himself along the edge of the pool once again. Obi-Wan reached his arms out a little further, opened them a little wider, but waited.

"Water … is like... "

"Hmm?"

"… the opposite of sand. Water's cool and sand is hot. Water is smooth. and sand is rough. Water is like … like a cold balm on a blister, and sand is what gives you the blister. Water gives life to plants and animals and people, and it cleans things. Water makes things alive and new, and it can be dark and it can be light and …"

Taken aback, Obi-Wan lowered his arms gradually as he listened, sensing a solemnity come over the boy. Anakin's eyes had wandered away in thought, but found him again.

"It's not scary. If you're there, it's not scary to me."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. "I'm right here."

Surprisingly, Anakin beamed a smile. And even more surprisingly, Obi-Wan was knocked back with splash as his Padawan jumped into the water before him. As startled as he was, an elation flooded him with pride and relief; the boy had taken the plunge.

Spitting and struggling to regain his balance, Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes and began treading water again as the waves stilled. He expected to have his apprentice clinging at him - or the edge - for dear life … but it was quiet.  _No no no no -_

" _Anakin_!"

Obi-Wan was underwater without even taking an adequate breath. The haze of his vision did little to assist him, and instead he extended his senses to find the boys presence; sure enough, a dark shadow rapidly sinking to the bottom of the pool alerted him. It had only been a few seconds -  _had he slipped upon jumping into the pool? Did he even taken a breath before jumping?_  As he used every effort in him to remain calm, to focus on his swimming, to still his thundering heart, that word was thrumming through his mind: drown, drown, drown,  _drown_  …

The air seemed cruelly cold as Obi-Wan climbed into it and out of the pool. Anakin's still form, cradled in his arms, was eased quickly onto the floors. The Master heaved for air, feeling as if to be sick, as he shook the boy roughly by his shoulders.

"Anakin!  _Padawa_  - "

Obi-Wan paused in his tracks. A moment of realization, and he bit back a curse laying wait sharply.  _Kriff_ ,  _the little imp! He's got to much Qui-Gon in him!_

"Get. Up. Now."

The boy opened his eyes, squinting from both the bright lights and fear of his Master's tone.

"Ah. I see you didn't fall for the classic 'I'll pretend I'm drowning' trope -"

"You could have died."

"You're the one who taught me breath control! I'd say I'm utilizing your teachings -"

"If you wanted a truly convincing act, you should have monitored your waking consciousness. I was about to begin CPR when I sensed you were still fully consciously aware."

"… whoops?"

"Try again."

"I'm sorry Master?"

"Not quite good enough."

Without hesitation, Obi-Wan stood, grabbing his apprentice by the armpits - all the while shouting negotiation tactics and reasonings - and promptly tossed him into the pool with a very satisfying splash.

This time, Anakin treaded water like a natural, and surfaced the water with an exclamation. "Obi-Wan what the - "

Obi-Wan jumped in and splashed him before he could say any more.

All fear, of both death and lost trust, was gone.


	5. A Safe Place

 

It had been twelve days. 

 

Obi-Wan had started counting after the first three meals Anakin had missed, and then, it seemed, by the hour since then. It appeared more apparent each time upon looking over the boy, in the way his eyes fell and caught stasis blankly, his quiet footfalls as he moved like a whisper about their quarters. He had never seen the boy this dejected, this boy who was the most rambunctious and fervent child he had ever seen and was graced to have in his stead. The boy’s disposition was nothing to admonish, however, considering the circumstances they both found themselves in. 

 

Only sixteen days ago, Qui-Gon Jinn had died, slain at the blade of a Sith apprentice, in the desperate embrace of his Padawan.  The words that had lingered on the greying man’s lips were of none other than the Tatooine born child that was now seemingly glimpsing a sort of death of the heart himself, as if those words had brought Anakin Skywalker to this place. 

 

It was three days after Qui-Gon’s death that Anakin had stopped eating. It wasn’t of childish defiance, nothing of a sort of tantrum or rebellion. It seemed a silent solace, a simple surrender unspoken that Obi-Wan had, seemingly, no choice but to accept as well. 

 

“I don’t want to eat today.”

 

The words were whispered, and accepted with a gentle nod by the young Master. He had assumed it to be loss of appetite, as one grieving often felt.

 

“That is fine. Let’s try, instead, to meditate together.”

 

And so they had, or attempted to. Obi-Wan could tell by the boys aura that he was not focused enough to accomplish the task, and still being a beginner it came as no surprise. He sensed the turmoil, the inward rejection of the tormenting feelings of sadness swirling around in him, and Obi-Wan had sent waves of soothing through the Force to Anakin instead of meditating himself. 

 

Obi-Wan had only known Anakin Skywalker for a short two weeks, and the first few days he had made no effort to acquaint the boy in assumption that he would never know him beyond his rumoured title of “Chosen One”. But now, he was tasked to know the boy in a way as a father would their child, to form a bond and create a relationship, and this task was daunting enough without the current bump in the path they were both working to surpass together. 

 

A healthy humanoid could only survive for three weeks without food, and at this rate his Padawan was nearly halfway to that goal. It had been at the seven day mark that Obi-Wan had admitted Anakin to the Temple’s Medical Wing after he had fainted before his Master’s eyes. 

 

The Healers had done their best to make them both comfortable in a small ward, despite Anakin’s stubborn refusal to speak to any of the attendants and his aversion to their attempts to care for him. Even something as simple as an offered glass of water could upset him. The only person who could communicate with him was Obi-Wan; he was able to keep him on fluids, which was an accomplishment in and of itself.

 

Everything about their situation was very tiring. The worry was wearing on him, and in the times when Anakin slept Obi-Wan met up with his comrades and fellow Jedi Masters Garen Muln and Siri Tachi for advice over tea. It was nice to simply be able to release some of what was weighing on his mind, in the comfort of his friend’s presence; Garen never failed to elicit a chuckle from him, albeit a sad one, and Siri’s practical suggestions and reasoning kept him  grounded and free from hindering emotions like guilt.

 

Garen had reassured him that it was a miracle Anakin, in such a state, responded to anyone, and the fact that it was his Master comforted Obi-Wan at least in this factor. The boy’s physical danger was not as much a concern as his mental state, and Siri especially had cautioned him not to take Anakin’s starvation lightly; more often than not, as she had learned with her own apprentice, an outward action had roots in an inward emotion. 

 

They had proposed that the next step toward recovery was to bring the boy to accept help beyond his Master. Obi-Wan had nodded, knowing how much more simple that was to say than to bring to pass. 

 

“He is ... I fear that I cannot persuade his disposition. He is stubborn, headstrong -“

 

“So were you, Obi.” Garen had nudged him with the comment, “Stubborn as an  angry bantha in heat.”

 

“If there’s anyone who can bring him to his peace, it’s you.” Siri had finished.

 

Obi-Wan had laughed softly, with a subtle hope that they were right.

 

He was brought out of his memory with the sound of the tea kettle. It was familiar, soothing in its own shrill way. It meant warmth and focus, comfort and quiet. He went to remove it from the small warmer in the kitchenette tucked in the corner of the ward. He watched in his peripheral as his apprentice stirred in his sleep to sit up, rubbing his face; blond hair was disheveled and that grey still sat sadly under his eyes.

 

_He is very tired still_ , Obi-Wan noted to himself as he carried the tea tray over to the boy’s bed,  _even more so than I_.

 

Anakin clutched at a blanket draped over his shoulders, still not acclimated to Coruscant’s chilly system. Yes, that tan was fast disappearing from his face, replaced with a pale more sickly than it should have been. 

 

Obi-Wan reached to pour the hot water, and thankfully Anakin did as well to accept it. He had decided he did not want anymore tea leaves as of yesterday, but his Master was glad he didn’t reject the water altogether. 

 

“How was your rest?”

 

Anakin shrugged, bringing the cup into both hands and close to his chest. 

 

“It is colder today. The autumn climate can get rather chilly, especially when the wind is acting as it is. The Temple normally regulates its temperature, but I can’t get the thermosystem much warmer in here. I’ll have to ask about that.”

 

Anakin nodded. 

 

Obi-Wan knew the boy hated small talk, that he had informed him of early on. The reason he kept it up, however, was that if he continued long enough he knew he boy would try to combat it. 

 

“I was speaking with Master Tachi earlier, and she seemed keen on allowing you and Ferus to participate in another katas session together - granted, your words of admonishment are kept at bay.”

 

“Ferus just hates that I am steadier on my feet than he is. He’s got big feet and can’t balance as well as I can.”

 

Obi-Wan smiled, seeing the boy sip a bit at his water. “You would do well to keep your tongue as levelled. It is often far too sharp for your own good.”

 

“Believe me, I’ve been nice - Ferus hasn’t heard  _anything_  yet. I could out-talk anybody back in Watto’s shop, that’s why he always had me out front cleaning things. The swindlers didn’t stand a chance against my mouth; I used to swear a lot too, until my mom found out ... and ...”

 

It grew quiet. Obi-Wan cursed to himself, then. That was the most vocal the boy had been all day. All yesterday, as well. 

 

Anakin was simply so raw, it was difficult to soothe without finding new areas where his wounds were still healing. Qui-Gon’s death had seemingly bathed him in burns, scathing his naive innocence deeply. It was so widespread, Obi-Wan didn’t know which areas to balm first. Each misplaced word could tear him open and erase so much repair so fast. 

 

Obi-Wan waited a beat before trying again, a different area of conversation, a softer nuance this time. “Your tactful cursing is not a lot unlike how Master Qui-Gon would curse.”

 

Anakin scrunched his face, perking up a bit at the mention of the man, “ _Qui-Gon_  would curse?  _Really_?”

 

“Only on rare occasion, and only under extreme duress.”

 

“Like when?”

 

“Once, I recall, upon confrontation with the prime minister of a Separatist controlled region on Dantooine. The prime minister had initiated the conversation - which was more like an argument than alleged ‘negotiations’ - and it was one quip too many about the ‘evil tirades of the Jedi Order and their twisted dark powers’ that pushed Master Qui-Gon to swear openly back at the man. As crude as the words were, they did not seem out of place ... they were eloquent, in a strange way. I didn’t think so at the time, however. I was only a little older than you, and hearing the anger in the tone had frightened me.”

 

Anakin processed the words, a glaze of concentration finding him. He spoke quietly, “I thought that anger wasn’t ... that Jedi shouldn’t feel anger.”

 

“The Force encourages us to feel. Happiness, sadness, anger, frustration. It is dangerous for one to destroy all semblance of feeling; instead, Jedi are called to become aware of these feelings - not to dwell on them - to let them flow through us. In time, one’s awareness of feelings deepens and becomes more deft at processing them.”

 

“In that moment, Qui-Gon’s anger was expressed for a purpose, and used to reinforce his point. He was not angry at the diplomat, but his anger stemmed from a desperation to free the people the prime minister was allowing to suffer under Separatist control, and he let the man know exactly what he was willing to do for the people’s sake. Some teachings say Jedi should not dwell on feelings of anger or hatred under any circumstance, but Master Qui-Gon encouraged that one should never be ashamed of anything they feel. They should, instead, use these feelings for the betterment of others, as well as oneself.”

 

Obi-Wan did not realize how this conversation had turned into a lesson until the cadence of his last phrase. That nostalgia brought him back, to times when he was in Anakin’s place and Qui-Gon was the one smiling ruefully back at him as he considered the wise words spoken. 

 

Obi-Wan knew his words were far from wise, but could still see Anakin consider them just as well. In this opportunity, sensing a resolve find his apprentice for maybe the first time in these long twelve days, he continued.

 

“Grief is one of the most complicated emotions. It can encompass anger, sadness, pain, hatred ... and emptiness. It often brings with it a despair, as if the feeling will never end. But, as all feelings do, it will. I promise you, it will.”

 

It was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Obi-Wan feared the boy had stopped breathing. He watched him, head hanging, still, and swore he heard the gentle  _pats_  of Anakin’s tears as they fell onto his lap. 

 

That tightening sense hit his stomach, choked in his throat, and Obi-Wan knelt before Anakin in an instinctive reaction to the strong waves of empathy coursing through him. He placed the palm of his hand along the chin to see better the glossy blue eyes. 

 

“... it hurts.”

 

The whisper was mottled with sadness. Obi-Wan nodded in wordless understanding. 

 

“It hurts ...  _everywhere_ , and nowhere and ... I thought if-if I stopped eating then I could  feel something and th-then ... maybe it would stop hurting me, but it doesn’t stop and I can’t make it stop a-and I dunno -“

 

Words were ceased as the young Master pressed the boy close to his chest, and Anakin seemed to collapse into him, into the safety of him, and sobbed. 

 

Obi-Wan hushed and hushed and held the child firmly in his arms, protectively to his chest, his cheek to the boys forehead, and hushed. Into sleep and fearless dreams, hushed into a safe place soothed by his Master’s presence, a peaceful place where grief could not find him.

 

Obi-Wan cradled Anakin and hushed him there, to this place, in his arms. 

 

And there, if only in the moment of a dream, nothing could hurt him anymore. 

 


	6. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is called "the talk" because Anakin and Obi-Wan have "the talk" in case you hadn't already surmised that, so I guess this is just a general warning that they say the word sex and stuff. That's all. Enjoy.

 

Although raised by the maverick Qui-Gon Jinn - notorious for his free thinking and rule bending - Obi-Wan Kenobi could not be more regimented and reserved. Like every other Initiate his age he had gone through the perils of adolescence, however he took the time to read everything he needed to know in order to be prepared for it. Puberty was a list he filed off in his head, recognizing the signs in his peers and himself and categorizing them accordingly. 

 

Garen Muln, his best friend, had been the first in their friend group to experience a changing voice. It didn’t help that he rarely ever stopped talking, which easily made him the butt of the joke; the nickname “Gabdorian Garen” had caught on quick. Bruck Chun had grown taller before anyone, which didn’t help when he would pick fights (at least for the people he was picking on). Out of the humanoids in the group, no one developed facial hair until much later on than expected, which was a disappointment amongst a few of them. 

 

As for the girls side of things, Obi-Wan was never really able to track the changes in the same way. He had outright asked Siri one day if she had begun her menstrual cycle yet and he had never felt his face hit the floor so fast. Bant had consoled him after helping him to his feet again; he had learned to watch his tongue around Siri after that, and decided he shouldn’t press for any more inquiries into the matter. 

 

Absentmindedly, Qui-Gon had half-asked him one day whether or not he knew about "the matters of procreation”, a hesitance in his voice that seemed more suspicious than nervous; knowing his Padawan, he feared the boy would go into detail about every single mammalian species copulation habits. Sure enough, Obi-Wan had replied with a cheerful affirmation, stating that he knew all the ins and outs. Qui-Gon had laughed so hard his dumbfounded apprentice feared he’d pass out.

 

By no means was going through puberty simple, or easy, but Obi-Wan had handled each change because he understood them very, very well. He experienced each hiccup, each bought of awkwardness, and accepted it, knowing it wouldn’t last forever soon he would be just as comfortable in his body as before. His knowledge was his solace. 

 

However, although Obi-Wan understood all of this well, he had never thought about having to explain it to anyone else. 

 

* * *

 

“What’s intercourse?”

 

Moments ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been sipping tapir tea as he did with his Padawan each morning, around the table in the central area of their quarters. This morning in particular, a gentle autumn rain fell and glimpses of early sunrise shifted shadows between passing clouds; they had planned an outing with a few other Master-Padawan duos to volunteer at Coruscant Medical in the Children’s Wing for the afternoon.

 

As per usual, they were running a little behind. After Obi-Wan had snoozed his chrono alarm - twice - it had taken another fifteen minutes to get Anakin out of bed. Their morning meditation session was interrupted by the loss of power in their quarters due to the weather; Anakin, who apparently doesn’t like the dark, had clung to his Master’s side until he had tinkered with the fuseboard enough to get partial power running. And of course, just before they were to depart, Anakin had proudly informed his Master he hadn’t showered in five days - seconds before his Master had promptly pushed him into the sanisteam. 

 

Thus, with minutes to spare before Siri would be comming him concernedly, Obi-Wan was multi-tasking as he worked to redo Anakin’s apprenticeship braid and sipped his steaming tea between plaits. 

 

At least, he _had_ been, until the boy before him blurted out his question. How much more he seemed like only a boy then, only a child, far too young to be asking about - 

 

“Intercourse, right? Am I saying the word properly?”

 

Anakin twisted around in his chair, blue eyes no nonsense as they found Obi-Wan’s. 

 

“Ah … yes, that’s right.”

 

The young Master waited a beat, hands stilled amidst their task. All thoughts of tardiness and lost power and responsibilities were tossed away, his mind coming to a full-stop. Those petty worries had no bearing against this situation, none at all. This was monumental, crucial, _pivotal_ in both their relationship as Master and Apprentice and for his Padawan’s own long-term understanding of the matters of procreation.

 

The only problem was that Obi-Wan, as clever as he considered he was, had no idea what to do.  

 

It was not that he hadn’t considered this before, because he had, but certainly didn’t think it was a topic of discussion that would be brought up so soon. Anakin was just barely ten standard years old. He still played with model ships, he needed a stool to reach the top shelf of their cabinets, he was scared of the dark and still complained when his Master made him eat red gourd soup. There was no way in the _galaxy_ he was asking about what Obi-Wan _thought_ he was asking about. 

 

_He probably misspoke,_ The thought came to his head, whimsical and bright with a false hope, and he asked lightly, “Did you mean to say _intercession_ Padawan?”

 

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

 

Obi-Wan sighed softly. _Good try Kenobi_. Reluctantly, he pressed on, knowing he had to get to the bottom of this. _Even if its as awkward and painful as removing Vognallian seeds from one’s rear end._

 

Obi-Wan finished the last section of Anakin’s braid, twisting it off with a small band, and sat down at the table beside the boy. Immediately he seemed to sense the shift in his Master’s aura, and Anakin perked up a bit. 

 

“So you know what it means?"

 

“Yes, I do - “

 

“Wizard!” Anakin grinned, “I had asked Lina, Kiri, and Mox Freedan and none of them knew! I should have known you always have the answers Obi-Wan - I mean, _Master_ \- "

 

“Slow down, slow down,” Obi-Wan chastened gently, trying _not_ to let the thought of his Padawan running around causing every other Initiate in the Temple to ask the same question he was asking vex him in that moment. _Force, help me …_ "Where did you hear this word from young one?"

 

“I was talking to Emit Tsolar, the Mirialan from my sparring troupe, and he was talking about how him and his Master had gone on a mission to the Phelarion system last week to diffuse a hostile situation or something, I can’t remember why, something about … taxing … anyways, Emit was saying that him and his Master - “

 

“ _He_ and his Master - “

 

“- sorry, _he_ and his Master, had gone to the house of the high diplomat in the middle of the night, and they had been sneaking around right?”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, already assuming where this story was going.

 

“Right, so they get to the house and Emit’s Master uses the Force to unlatch the window on the second floor, and he helps Emit inside and he gets inside and he’s in the bedroom and he sees the high diplomat in the bed with a Togrutan female - who was _not_ the woman they had met with the high diplomat earlier that day who was his wife - and Emit said the Togrutan woman screamed, not just ‘cause they had broken in their house but because he said that they were having _intercourse_.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and he blinked, nodding as he processed the complexities of the information best he could. So not only sexual intercourse, but adultery. _Wonderful. The real question here is what kind of Jedi Master sends their apprentice trespassing into a bedroom late a night in the first place? Taking unorthodox methods isn’t forbidden in the Code, but doesn’t that breach some form of conduct? It seems downright idiotic -_

 

“Master?”

 

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan caught the boy’s expectant eyes again. 

 

“You’ve been staring at me and nodding for two minutes.” 

 

“Ah, sorry.” 

 

Anakin kicked his feet in his chair patiently, eyes never wavering from Obi-Wan’s. In that moment, Obi-Wan had every right to dismiss the question. The boy was still so young, so clearly naive he could not even make a simple assumption as to what two beings would be doing together in bed at night. Knowing of Anakin’s own alleged conception, he could easily brush it off as some sort of magical process until he was old enough to understand. But something in Obi-Wan nudged him to just _tell_ him, and that something in him felt all to much like Qui-Gon’s finger in his side. 

 

_Fine. You win this time, Master._ Obi-Wan mused in defeat, and imagined his Master’s voice in a chuckle reply, _Only_ _this time?_

 

A sigh escaped him again, this one lighter than the last, lifting some weight away. Anakin pursed his lips, understanding as ever. Though he had some trouble listening, he had always been an easy one to talk to. 

 

“Anakin, what Emit saw - “ He forced himself to say the word,” - _intercourse_ , is something private and intimate that two beings share. It is a physical representation and expression of emotion, most likely love, as well as a biological process used for procreation between a male and a female.”

 

Anakin stared blankly. 

 

“The reproduction systems and procreation habits differ from species to species, but for humanoids intercourse occurs when the male and female are aroused and … do you understand a word I am saying?”

 

“I didn’t get anything past ‘physical represention’.” Anakin admitted, mispronouncing the phrase and eliciting a smile from his Master, “The words are too big.” 

 

“Alright, erm …  you’ve seen a man and a woman kiss before?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“So that’s sort of the first step leading up to the actual intercourse. When people kiss, their bodies become aroused which means that they want to … keep kissing each other, and then, after a while, the man inserts his - “

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait, sex? Does intercourse mean _sex_?”

 

Obi-Wan had never felt so relieved to hear the word exit the boy’s lips. “Yes, Force yes, that’s … that’s essentially what it means."

 

“You could have just said that! I know all about sex, believe me.”

 

The incredulous look Obi-Wan shot him made Anakin raise his hands in mock surrender. “I mean, not like _that_. There were brothels all over Mos Espa and I was friends with some of the kids who’s mothers worked them, so I went to them sometimes just for a while; my mom always hated that I did, but they weren’t scary or anything. That’s why I was confused cause Emit said he was scared when he saw it, but sex isn’t scary. It’s kinda weird, but not scary.”

 

This whole ordeal made Obi-Wan too tired to want to ask anymore questions of the boy then, though his mental list was piling up he filed them away for another time. Instead, he nodded again, “It is not scary. It is a natural process, and I’m glad you understand it. If you ever have any questions, however, be sure to come to me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And like that, the crisis was averted as quickly as it had begun. Obi-Wan let his head exhaustedly meet the cradle of his palm, exhaling gently.

 

"Are you alright Master?"

 

“Yes, I am now. You just made me nervous; I was beginning to think I would have to go through each step with you.“

 

“I could kinda tell by your face what you were talking about.”

 

“My face?”

 

“Yeah, it was bright red, like that time you tripped walking into the Council Room - “

 

“Lest we forget who caused that?”

 

Obi-Wan stuck a finger in the boy’s side, and Anakin squirmed away with a protesting laugh. Just then, his commlink beeped from his belt, no doubt Siri with an earful of inquiries for him, and with yet another sigh Obi-Wan rose and gestured Anakin to follow. 

 

“Come now, grab your robe and let’s go before Master Tachi resigns to leaving us behind."

 

Anakin complied, a smirk finding him as he slipped his arms in his sleeves, “Ah, that reminds me, I _do_ have a question - "

 

“If it is what I think it is I’m not answering."

 

"Have you ever done it?”

 

Obi-Wan wordlessly gestured him toward the door. 

 

“Hmm? Does no answer mean yes?”

 

“Anakin.” He replied, in that tone of warning that the boy knew well. 

 

"What about with Master Siri - “

 

“Anakin.”

 

“It’s a yes or no question, right? I’ll ask Ferus, I bet he’ll tell me!”

 

“ _Anakin_."

 


	7. New Traditions

_The amount of positive response I've recieved so far for this little fic is much more than I could have anticipated, so thank you to everyone who has read this far! I wrote this chapter in honour of New Year's, and there should be another chapter released within the week ahead. As always, let me know if there are any moments you would love to read about. Thank you again and happy reading!_

* * *

Of all three of Coruscant’s annual celebratory Fete Weeks, New Year Fete Week had always been the one Obi-Wan Kenobi held most dear. There did not seem to be any one clear reason why this was, which was odd for such a methodical and purpose-driven Jedi, at least nothing concrete enough to pinpoint. 

 

If hard pressed for an answer, Obi-Wan surmised that maybe it was because of the fond memories of his time as a youngling, when his clan would decorate their nursery with colourful ribbons and their clan leader would teach them the days of the week, and the significance of New Year Fete. Maybe it was due to the times as an Initiate, old enough to venture out from the Temple with his classmates to spend time at the numerous vendor stands and food stalls, buying trinkets with his pocket money and confetti bulbs to crack open and welcome in the new year. 

 

But truly, it seemed, his affection of the holiday had formed attachment due to the times his Master Qui-Gon Jinn spent with him during this week of precious down time,  free from the vigour of assignments and mission. Qui-Gon had taught him sabacc during their first Fete week as a pair, and they played matches together every year subsequently. They would travel to the market stands and purchase special foodstuffs, exotic spices and meats from Corellia or Ansion, and try their hand at cooking together. Obi-Wan had mastered braised nerf by their seventh New Year Fete, served with Qui-Gon’s spicy ghoba rice and emerald wine which would lead them laughing late hours into the night. 

 

Traditionally, they would swap gifts on Benduday, the last day of the week. This was not a tradition of the holiday itself, but a special custom created between each other. Obi-Wan’s gifts had been childish at first, not abnormal considering his naivity, things like a wrapped box of tapir tea or a handmade bracelet, and grew more sophisticated as he aged. Obi-Wan kept every gift Qui-Gon had given him over the years, from things as small as puzzle cubes to datapads on whatever he had been interested at a particular age, from botany to the exploration of the mechanics and construction of E-16/x ion engines to the history of Sullustan cultural traditions. 

 

It seemed, though, even the memories of the fond times spent with his Master during Fete Week were not what Obi-Wan held most dear. It was only during his first Fete Week without Qui-Gon Jinn that the young man fully realized what exactly it was. 

 

* * *

When Anakin had confusedly informed his Master he had never tried a Corellian sweet bun, Obi-Wan had been taken aback. They had not yet spent New Year Fete celebrations together as Master and apprentice, but the dessert was intergalactically common and he was appalled the boy hadn’t been given the chance to try one yet. The hour was already late, their quarters cleaned from supper and evening tea put away, but Obi-Wan would have none of it. 

 

It was an impulsive decision, he knew, one unconsciously rooted in the footsteps of his former Master, but they were off to the Temple’s hangar bay, all the while on the way Anakin being educated on the finer aspects of Corellian cuisine and the cultural significance of the specific dessert he had never even heard of. Obi-Wan, naturally, had nearly let his words get the best of him, hardly realizing that his Padawan had taken the pilot seat of a small cruiser and they had arrived at one of the many marketplaces set up around Coruscant’s upper levels during New Year Fete. 

 

Though the hour was late, the area was bustling with beings, vendors selling rare fabrics from Onderon or Toydaria, dozens of stands with various exotic foodstuffs, the air warm with the smell of spices and pastries and smoke from children who waved around sparklers that signified the hope of the new year ahead. Obi-Wan had been stopped in his conversation with the boy, seeing the look on the young one’s face as they exited their cruiser into the cool night. A bright, rare wonder lit them up like stars, taking everything in like a curious youngling. 

 

It was a side to the boy the Master had not yet seen. 

 

Usually in a situation like this, Obi-Wan would be hot on the heels of his apprentice for not the first time and for Force’s sake, certainly not the last. Over the two months spent so far with the boy, he had only mastered a few of the tasks so far he deemed crucial in becoming a teacher. One of them was his ability to chase after Anakin, a skill learned in necessity of both the boy’s survival and his own sanity. So far, Obi-Wan had increased his locating skills and speed while decreasing search time and could spot the boy in a crowd in nanoseconds. Anakin has picked up on this, and was growing less likely to try the tactic as time went on; the risk of having to read yet another study chip about the virtue of patience outweighed his desire to rush ahead. At least for now. 

 

Another skill Obi-Wan had quickly learned was his ability to distinguish between Anakin’s mischievous questions and his inherently curious ones. Upon learning of Coruscant’s traditional New Year Fete Week celebrations over the breakfast table two nights ago, Anakin had nearly talked his Master’s ear off about it for hours afterwards. Obi-Wan was able to tell that his questions held no ulterior motive, no hint of persuasion or subversion. He was not subtly asking for something, or looking for something, or wanting Obi-Wan to tell him something, as he sometimes did. Anakin was simply being Anakin: hungry for all the wondrous new things the galaxy held out to him and eager to let his Master lead him to them. 

 

Curiosity was one of Obi-Wan’s favourite traits about the boy; he, too, had been the curious one as a youngling, though tempered with his inner rationale and analytical nature. In contrast, Anakin’s curiosity seemed to have no temperance, no bounds, wild like the expanses of the galaxy and endless like its dark unknown beyond. 

 

It was this galaxy that glinted in his Padawan’s curious blue gaze, that caused the Master to stop and stare into it. There was something there, familiar yet foreign, warm innocence mottled with wisdom. Obi-Wan decided, then, to cease his words, in hopes to hold on to this moment a bit longer. For both their sakes. 

 

It hadn’t taken long to find a vendor selling Corellian desserts, but Obi-Wan had let them pass by a few stands, noticing how Anakin may not have stopped walking if he had tried. His feet carried him forward, nudging his Masters arm every so often and pointing to each new sight. A vendor selling an array of miniature model ships caught the boy’s eye, and Obi-Wan watched as Anakin excitedly found a Delta-7  _Aethersprite_ -class light interceptor, a Jedi starfighter, and watched as the boy chatted with the vendor for a bit about the cruisers significance. There were a group of adult Codru-Ji performing a small acrobatic act that involved fire and just the right amount of risk to make even Anakin a little nervous, and they had stopped there for a while to watch. Anakin had petted some of the young wyrwulves that scampered about, who seemed just about as intrigued with him as he was with them. A few followed them for a while as they made their way further through the market; the young Master had to use a touch of the Force to gently bid them back to their families. And again, Obi-Wan’s sleeve was tugged gently, motioned to see a young girl who was selling bracelets, woven from colourful leathers, and he let his apprentice watch her braid a few before exchanging some credchips for one of his own - 

 

“Here! You like blue, right?”

 

_Make that two_ , Obi-Wan corrected, accepting the handcrafted trinket with a nod. Anakin tied it carefully around his wrist, and held out his own for his Master to do the same. The boy’s bracelet was a reddish-pink in comparison, not a lot unlike the blush on his cheeks from the chilly air about them. 

 

Obi-Wan, in realization, asked him then, “Are you cold, Padawan?”

 

“Um, only a little.” Anakin shivered a bit, “I keep forgetting the climate here isn’t what I’m used to!”

 

Concernedly, the young man grasped the little, cold hands between his own, holding back a frustrated curse to himself.  _He’s out here freezing and I hardly noticed; could I be any more stiff?_

 

Obi-Wan wiggled out of his own robe, wrapping it over Anakin’s shoulders, “Take this, for now. I saw a stand that was displaying scarves a little ways back."

 

Anakin laughed, looking ridiculously small in the cloak that was twice his size, but slipped his arms in the sleeves contentedly. Together they retraced their steps and made it back to the stand Obi-Wan recalled, decorated with hats and scarves and mittens from Qiilura made from merlie wool. Anakin was immediately testing the textures, and Obi-Wan followed, taking the garments between his fingers.

 

The woman at the stand picked up on their scrutiny and commented, “It feels rough, but this wool's thick. Ne’r seen merlie that didn’t make it through the winter.”

 

“It’s very nice!” Anakin replied, just tall enough to peek over the edge of the stand, “And these are beautiful. Do you knit them yourself?”

 

“Yes.” The wrinkled eyes brightened at the funny looking boy, “Y’look like you’re from a warm planet, eh?”

 

Anakin nodded, “Tatooine never,  _ever_  gets even  _close_  to this cold!”

 

Obi-Wan smiled despite himself, observing the banter. Though he had been told he often had a way with words, known for his negotiation tactics, nothing could surprise him more than Anakin’s boyish charm and genuine heart for others. 

 

“Would your father like a scarf? Sure he’s cold too, nothin’ but a tunic on.”

 

The grey-haired woman shot him a wink, which left Obi-Wan a little more flustered than he would have preferred, handing him a long brown piece of wool. He reached for his belt, but the woman shook her head at him, refusing the payment.

 

“Happy New Year.”

 

“Wow, thank you!” Anakin piped in, seeing his Master was short for words, “Happy New Year to you!”

 

Soon, after Obi-Wan had bundled the scarf around his neck, they finally found themselves at a dessert stand. This particular stand had an array of baked goods, from ryshcate to xirlia to kessinnamon rolls. Obi-Wan let Anakin watch the vendors prepare the bowls of dough for various pastries as he waited for a fresh batch of sweet buns to be baked. Flour made the air cloudy, and Anakin pressed his palms up on the transparisteel, as close as he could be to the sight. 

 

“What would you like as a filling?”

 

Anakin closed one eye as he thought, examining the large vats, some filled with sweetened fruits and others with spices. “Hmm … what do you like?”

 

“I usually prefer a sweet filling over a savoury one, but I have a sweet tooth.” Obi-Wan noted, bending down to rest on his haunches to meet Anakin’s height, pointing as he spoke, “There’s shuura, which is very sweet. That red one there is blumfruit, which is a bit more sour. Those fillings there are made from charbote root and vweilu nut, if you are looking for a savoury option.”

 

Anakin chose blumfruit, which was what his Master had chosen first. The steaming bun was handed to him, wrapped in white paper, and the Padawan held it close to his chest to warm himself with it. Obi-Wan motioned them to sit at a nearby bench, the boy bringing both his legs up to sit huddled close, facing his Master. 

 

“On the count of three, we both take a bite.”

 

Obi-Wan tried to disagree, “It’s still very hot, you’ll burn your - “

 

“-onetwothree  _go_!”

 

Obi-Wan complied somehow, and no doubt did the hot filling burn his tongue instantly. Anakin was grinning, mouth full as he laughed, “I’m used to the heat, remember? Tatooine?”

 

“Is every single dish on Tatooine served extremely hot?” Obi-Wan struggled to speak, breathing quickly in an attempt to relieve the burning. 

 

“No, but it  _is_  extremely hot everywhere; you build up a tolerance after a while.” Anakin closed his eyes suddenly, seemingly taking in the flavour then, “Mmm, this is wizard!”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, “In my humble opinion, no New Year Fete Week is complete without a sweet bun.”

 

“Did Qui-Gon take you? Before, when you were his Padawan?”

 

“Yes, he did. We came to marketplaces set up just like these from our very first Fete Week and each year on. It became a sort of tradition.” Obi-Wan took another small bite of his dessert absentmindedly, the heat barely bothering him. 

 

“Did you first try a sweet bun here?”

 

“Yes, upon my Master’s request.”

 

“Was it as good as this one?”

 

“Nearly."

 

“I guess this means … it’s your first one without him.”

 

Again, the Master nodded. Sometimes, during sombre conversations such as these, Obi-Wan wished he could express to the boy exactly how he felt, to share more, deeper, but it seemed that he was not very able to. Not that he could not, but he did not want to. It seemed that the fond memories were much more bitter than sweet, and he did not want to sour the mood with his sadness. 

 

Anakin, already halfway done his bun, piped in again, “At home, my mom and I would make wishes on New Year’s. We would hold each others hands, like this - “

 

Obi-Wan had little choice in the matter and found his hands in the grip of Anakin’s.

 

“And we’d close our eyes and make a wish, and then I’d squeeze our hands three times we both open our eyes and look up to the sky."

 

“Why is that?”

 

“To send our wishes there,” Anakin spoke matter-of-factly, “I know it sound silly, but it was my mother’s favourite. I think there is some merit to it too.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, I’m here now right? You know how many times I wished to be freed?” 

 

Obi-Wan wished his question had not been phrased so sarcastically. The boy was solemn, and though Obi-Wan was questioning the origins of this traditional practice, he shoved his thinking aside for a moment and closed his eyes. 

 

When he did, he realized. Realized he had hardly closed his eyes anymore if but to sleep. Realized all the thoughts and memories that lay waiting behind his eyelids, and how he unconsciously welcomed them all in again. Realized he was yet again ignoring things he needed to work through.  _Qui-Gon_. He hardly spoke the man’s name anymore, as if it were fragile, as if uttering it could break him. The Force whispered truth to him in the darkness. 

 

He had to let go of that part of his Master, that part of him that did not want to hurt Qui-Gon, or ruin him, or use him somehow. Qui-Gon Jinn was gone. All that was left of him was essentially what Obi-Wan knew.  _Force_ , that thought frightened him.

 

Obi-Wan was not sure what to wish for, but he hoped in his heart of hearts he would be able to kill that part in him holding on too tightly, knowing it was not the ways of the Jedi to keep the selfish feelings. Instead, he wanted let the memories, the wisdom that could carry on his Master’s legacy take root and grow in its place. 

 

The two hands were squeezed gently, three times in succession, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Instead of looking up, however, he was again seeing that star-studden look in Anakin’s eyes. And he understood. 

 

Of course, he held New Year Fete so dear. Qui-Gon had always shown this look with Obi-Wan at his side. To laugh, and share, and walk with. To smile at and tease. That look was an indescribable joy, Anakin was its successor. 

 

A silently, mercifully, his grip on that part of his Master was released. It had no place anymore, not with the space this curious, rambunctious, joyful Padawan took up in his heart. It felt like a brush of fingers upon his face as the selfish feelings fell away, gentle as Qui-Gon’s had been on his cheek. Gentle, and echoing a sent blessing. 

 

_My wish has already come true_. Obi-Wan mused, looking down at Anakin who still held tightly to his hands, staring up wondrously at the sky with his blue eyes reflecting the stars. 

 


	8. Free

_Womp rat_. The words played through Anakin’s mind, thought projected into his. _Womp rat, womp rat, Tatooine womp rat!_

 

He turned in his seat to see the classmates behind him, most fighting grins and hiding giggles. The Padawan winced to himself, slumping as low as he could in his chair.  _Not again._

 

Anakin felt a tap on his left shoulder, then his right, then his left again, the touches harsh and unfriendly. He glanced to the chrono on the front wall of the classroom, reading that the Advanced Meditative Techniques Class didn't start for another ten minutes. Ten more minutes of childish torture for him. A small wad of paper levitated its way onto his desk, but he swiped it with his arm to the floor; an audible flash of giggles was heard as the piece floated back up, and he shoved it off again. Anakin felt his temper spark.

 

Tru Veld, from his seat aside Anakin, outstretched his arm to touch his shoulder in consolation, "Don't let them bother you."

 

"Easy for you to say - everyone likes you."

 

He turned again, meeting eyes with the instigator with a no nonsense glare, "I know it's you, Rhe. I'm not blind."

 

Juur Rhe, red eyes glowing with pride at his joke, raised his hands innocently with a grin from his spot around the other boys at the rear of the class. The twelve-standard-year old Chiss boy knew just how to upset Anakin; not by any blatant offence, but by slowly grating on him. It had been two weeks since Anakin began taking the Initiate Training classes, recommended by his Master Obi-Wan. The young man had insisted it would work to help supplement the boy's transition into the Jedi Order, introducing him to the basic principles all young Jedi learned as well as getting him “acquainted" with others his age. 

 

_Acquainted. Easy for Obi-Wan to say,_ Anakin thought for not the first time. He knew it couldn’t have been _that_ long since his Master was an Initiate, and he wasn’t sure how popular Obi-Wan had been, but it seemed like every kid in his class already had something against him. _Maybe it’s some sort of Jedi thing._

 

It had been two weeks of learning meditation practices and microbiology and brushing up on planetology. Two weeks of take-home projects and struggling through calculus homework with Obi-Wan. And two weeks of torment from Juur Rhe, who had nothing against Anakin besides a supposed jealousy of his title of Chosen One. Anakin was not phased by the occurrence; he had dealt with bullying his entire life on Tatooine. In his opinion, Rhe was actually a pretty meager adversary. If he really wanted to Anakin knew he could beat the boy up. Rhe was quick-witted, which meant his best weapons were his words; he would certainly relent in the face of pain. 

 

_One punch to the eye could take him down, easy,_ Anakin considered, mostly in fanciful whims. He had not yet told Obi-Wan about the bully - if he could even call Rhe that - and did not plan on it. His Master always, _always_ told him to come to him with anything, and it was not that Anakin wanted to disobey. He went to Obi-Wan with many things, as his Master was a good listener. It was that he did not want a small problem like teasing to cause his Master any issues. 

 

Just last week, he had overheard a few older Jedi talking about Obi-Wan and him again, passing by them as he walked back to his quarters after finishing his classes for the day. 

 

_“There’s that boy Skywalker . . . did you hear he’s joined an Initiate group?”_

 

_“To try and catch him up on the years of training he’s missed, yes.”_

 

_“Kenobi should watch himself; he may be a Knight now, but that apprentice of his isn’t any Jedi yet.”_

 

Anakin had sulked in his room for a while after that. He never wanted to be any trouble, that he had made clear to Qui-Gon, and the words still stood true. As much as he wanted to become a Jedi, he didn’t want to ruin his Master’s reputation for it. He was willing to do anything to ensure that, especially for Obi-Wan’s sake. 

 

_And if that means withstanding this sleemo’s torment, then I’m gonna get lots of patience training._

 

Anakin still stared back at Juur, watching the edges of his mouth turn up in a sly smirk. 

 

“Are you gonna to keep throwing flimsi at me or are you gonna just get the guts to call me a womp rat to my face instead of in my head?”

 

The other boys around him edged Juur on, and he replied nonchalantly, "Aw, don’t get pissy Skyboy, I was just trying to save face. Didn’t know Sandpeople were so sensitive.” 

 

They laughed haughtily. Anakin was quick to reply, hands gripping his chair, "Watch what you say, Rhe. I'm sure we all remember what happened last time you couldn't keep your mouth shut."

 

Classmates scoffed and snickered, all recalling the incident that had ended up sending Juur to Master Yoda's office. Juur scowled, and Anakin could not supress his smirk.

 

"You're nothing but a prick, Skywalker. A brown noser."

 

Anakin furrowed his brow, "You’re saying I’m a goody-two-shoes because I manage to pass my classes -"

 

“You’ve been here for what, a standard month? You’re never gonna be a Jedi at this rate - not until you’re Master Yoda’s age!”

 

“Just because I haven’t been here since I was a drooling baby doesn’t mean I’m any less of a Jedi than you.”

 

“Pfft!” Juur’s laugh was genuine enough to sting, and Anakin gritted his teeth to keep a curse behind them. “Your Master killed a Sith Lord! He’s one of the greatest Jedi ever! Don’t you think you’re better off training with someone who actually deserves you?”

 

Anakin didn’t reply, keeping a steely expression. He feigned it to make it appear as if he were non-plussed. Truly, the comment stung somewhere he didn’t realize was as sensitive as it was. Of _course_ he felt Obi-Wan deserved someone better. He had just not considered that everyone else thought so as well. 

 

“I bet Master Kenobi wishes he’d left you in the Outer Rim too, where you belong - "

 

“Shut up Juur.” 

 

The whisper escaped his lips harshly. Anakin was staring at the ground, trying to remember one of the calming techniques his Master had taught him as fast as he could. He felt an anger burning in his belly that he did not want to feel. 

 

Juur, however, had perked up at the remark. “Ex _cuse_ me?"

 

The tone of the question took precedence, and Anakin shot his eyes up and barked back, “I said shut _up_ , you lying weasel!"

 

"Who are you calling a weasel, Tatooine scum? Are you talking to me?"

 

"I thought I was, until I realized you were an uneducated, lazy bantha-brain, and uneducated lazy bantha-brains can't  _talk_!"

 

The gasp was palpable. Juur’s chair screeched as he pushed himself to his feet and approached Anakin, who was quicker even to stand, replying as he stalked, "It isn't too late to run and tell a Master, Skywalker. You're  _so_  good at it!"

 

“Don't tempt me - the only reason I ever had was because I didn't want to  _hurt_  you."

 

"Hey!"

 

At the cry, the heads turned to see Darra Thel-Tanis rise from her desk, glaring at them. Anakin wished, on one hand, she would not try to get involved again, knowing how much fighting upset her. On the other hand, he was glad; sometimes all it took was a firm word from her too cool down a situation. She stalked over and stood between them, her stature smaller than the both of them but nonetheless more intimidating than the two. She planted her hands firmly on her hips, " _Stop_ it!" 

 

"Go eat your smelly feet Darra!"

 

Anakin shook his head, "Don't you dare speak to her that way - "

 

Juur shoved Darra aside, the girl stumbling into a desk awkwardly with a thump. She went to try and push him back, but Tru grabbed her, struggling and protesting. 

 

Anakin restrained himself from pushing Juur for her, "Don't ever touch her! You hear me?"

 

"Why? You like her?" Juur raised his brows, "You  _love_  her?!"

 

Anakin gritted his teeth, Juur standing only inches above him and dangerously close, "You awkward stuck-up sissy!"

 

"You ignorant cheat!” Anakin spat back to the boy. Juur continued, unabashed.

 

"You girlish half-grown wampa!"

 

"You Hutt-faced sleemo!"

 

By this time, the classes chants of " _Fight! Fight! Fight_!" had begun alongside the pounding of desks and rhythmic clapping. The two boys barely registered, eyes locked firmer than a Wookiee arm-wrestling contest.

 

"You no-good, filthy womp rat!” Anakin screamed, hands in fists so tight he swore his palms bled. 

 

"You blabbering twerp!" Juur shouted.

 

"You stunted blockhead!"

 

"You stupid nerf-herder!"

 

"You clumsy son of a gundark!"

 

"You Jedi wannabe!"

 

"You slimy Huttspit!"

 

"You . . . you  _slave_!"

 

And Anakin lunged.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker scowled. He pressed the ice pack to his bruised eye, his headache throbbing each time Juur Rhe kicked the chair they shared before Master Yoda's office.  _Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

"Stop it." Anakin muttered, and Juur nudged him promptly. "Ouch."

 

Though he wasn't nearly as beat up as Anakin was (considering Juur’s friends had joined the fight) his peer's hair was disheveled and his swollen lip looked awful as he smirked. The cut on his forehead had been Darra's handiwork, and Anakin smiled in memory. Boy was she feisty - 

 

_Thump. Thump._  Anakin groaned beneath his breath. "Stop it."

 

"Shut up Skywalker, or I'll blacken your other eye." 

 

"Yeah right, not sitting right in front of Master Yoda's office you wouldn’t," Anakin reminded him, "Even I'd avoid that."

 

Juur stuck out his tongue promptly, "This all your fault."

 

"Me?!" Anakin was incredulous, "You punched me!"

 

“You punched me _first_!”

 

"You should have played along and told Master Fisto that we were just play fighting!" Anakin shot back, "It would have worked.”

 

“Yeah, that’s cause every Master listens to a sucky baby."

 

"It hurt. It _still_ hurts." Anakin pouted slightly, “At least I wasn't the one crying - "

 

Juur grabbed the collar of Anakin’s tunic, but the other fought back, pressing his ice pack to Juur’s face and struggling. 

 

"Don't you _ever_ say that again!" Juur said, muffled by the ice pack.

 

"You were crying! You were!  _You're_  the sucky baby -"

 

"Hmm."

 

The soft sound was all too familiar to both boys. They stopped their scuffle instantly, rising to their feet as Master Yoda stepped out of his office before them. Green eyes were laser stern, the small figure nothing but business. He simply widened the door, and they stepped soundlessly inside the office after him. 

 

The thought of being brought before Master Yoda was already something Anakin dreaded in his heart of hearts. He always had a stale feeling inside him, ever since his first days in the Temple and the testing he had received before the Jedi High Council. Though he had since been assured the Masters only wanted the best, for him and the Order itself, he still hated the memory. Furthermore, he did all he could to avoid it ever occurring again. But here he was now, and he had imagined it couldn’t get any worse. 

 

Unfortunately for him, his imagination obviously had not tried hard enough. 

 

Anakin’s footsteps faltered as he entered the room, meeting eyes with one of the two people sitting in wait on the floor of the dim room. One of them was a Twi’lek male, with soft brown eyes and skin the colour of a warm sunset. Anakin figured it was Juur’s Master. Which meant the grey-blue eyes that bore into him, a look mixed with worry and disappointment, was none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

 

Juur poked Anakin as they sat beside each other on a floor mat between the two Jedi Masters and aside their respective teacher, and he glared back at the boy. He would not dare misbehave before Master Yoda, though he sure as Force wanted to. 

 

Master Yoda sat cross-legged and faced them all, gimer stick resting in his lap. 

 

“Thanked, Master Kenobi and Master Ryon should be, for coming to see me at your expense.”

 

The two Padawans replied in unison immediately, bowing their heads to their teachers, “Thank you, Master.”

 

Anakin avoided Obi-Wan’s eyes as he did so, though he could still feel that stare. He didn’t want to face it, yet. He felt like he couldn’t.

 

Master Yoda nodded in thanks. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. 

 

"A fight, had you, hmm?"

 

They nodded in unison. 

 

"Resolved anything, did you?"

 

Juur raised his hand to speak, and the elder Jedi gave a nod of acknowledgment. 

 

"Anakin started it."

 

_You liar!_ Anakin thought harshly, but bit his tongue, glaring at Rhe. 

 

"Master, I was just trying to focus on studying my curriculum work when Padawan Skywalker started bothering me -"

 

“Juur started it, he’s started it every time Master!"

 

The small Master gave his gimer stick a whack against the floor, and the two young ones jumped in surprise. It was quiet instantly. Yoda caught both their eyes somehow, sternly and stiff as duracrete. 

 

"Stop this bickering, you will. Enough I have had. Whose fault it was, care I do not." Yoda sighed, "Much tension I sense in you, much anger.”

 

Juur fidgeted with his hands, and Anakin softly sighed. Both their Masters watched them intently. 

 

“Sense, I do, that deeper this is. Deeper than teasing, yes, hmm?”

 

Though Anakin couldn’t be sure, that place in him that Juur had stung flared up again. The eyes glanced over Anakin at the words, hesitating there, as if confirming them. 

 

“Master Ryon, Padawan Rhe, speak outside with me you will.” Master Yoda rose, looking to Obi-Wan as he did, “Master Kenobi and Skywalker will join us in a moment.”

 

Juur looked to Anakin, and back to his Master, confused, but the Jedi Knight only motioned him to follow. The boy complied, and Anakin felt a weight on his shoulders lift being separated from his presence finally. His hands, which he had not realized were tensed into fists, relaxed. However, he had an even bigger problem to confront now. 

 

Obi-Wan shifted a bit beside him, turning his body so that he faced him head on. Anakin could hear him breathing, that was how quiet it was. He noticed, looking down at his Master’s robes on the floor before him, that Obi-Wan was dressed in his formal wear, which meant he had been away somewhere, probably the Senate or another political address. That meant he had been pulled out of somewhere important to be there, in front of him, eye pitifully swollen and pride scathed. It didn’t make the Padawan feel any better. 

 

“Master Ryon informed me that Padawan Rhe has been having a difficult time with his anger as of late. As is evident by the mark he made.”

 

Anakin lowered the ice pack from his eye, letting his Master have a better look, “He pushed Darra, so I clocked him. It ended up being four against one, I think. Ferris tried to help break it up, but he couldn’t get to me.”

 

“Hmm. I’m sure this is not the first time Juur has pestered you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Third or fourth time?”

 

Anakin shook his head.

 

“I see."

 

It was quiet, after a few moments. Anakin picked at the sole of his boot distractedly with his tongue peeking out of his lips, face tensed by the action that took his mind off of his true problem.

 

“Young one.”

 

That was all it took. The voice was soft and understanding, which it made it hurt even worse. Anakin felt the tears spring up in his eyes, and that part in him that stung began to ache, hurting his throat, straining his breath.

 

“Ani, look at me.” Obi-Wan whispered, gentle but forceful. When the boy didn’t move, he used a finger to raise his chin up a bit. The young man exhaled at the tears Anakin’s blue eyes fluttered back. 

 

“I … I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t want to _have_ to hurt him, but he’d been bothering me since I started going to classes, and I tried ignoring him and I didn’t want to bother you ‘cause I heard someone saying - and I didn’t want to get you in trouble and, and I didn’t want to - but then he said -“

 

Anakin gasped back what was almost a sob, but continued, “- he said, he said … he said you didn’t - you don’t deserve me, and - “

 

“Anakin … “ The name was spoken firmly, rooting the boy to focus. Obi-Wan met his eyes, “No one _deserves_ you. You need not justify your place at my side. You are not an object anymore. You are no one’s property. You are freed from that life.”

 

_He has been freed._ The words, spoken by Qui-Gon Jinn, echoed in his memory, and Anakin realized that was why this hurt so much. Juur still saw him as the slave boy from Tatooine, and through all the times of teasing, Anakin had too. He had allowed Juur’s beliefs to cause him to forget that boy was no more. To forget he was what he had always assured himself he was: a person, not a thing. Not a slave. 

 

"I am privileged to have you at my side. No one can define your worth, or your value, to me. No one needs to.” 

 

Anakin understood. He looked back at his Master intently, or best he could considering his swollen eye. There was something about his words that made him feel calm, that warmed him from the inside like a sun burned in his chest; he could hear the words, feel them, touch them almost, through the Force. He allowed them to sink in, accepting them, letting them in … and something inside him opened up, wide and expansive like wild space but as intimate and close as a whisper. He felt that this connection had been in him for some time, but had blossomed then into something new.

 

Somehow, Anakin felt that he was there, in this place. Obi-Wan was there too. 

 

“Master … what …?"

 

At the quizzical gaze that searched him for answers, Obi-Wan managed a small smile. “This, what you feel, is our bond, Padawan. It is our connection to one another in the Force."

 

“That - _this_ , it’s our bond?”

 

“Yes. Your trust in me, and the Force, has opened you to feel it for the first time."

 

At that moment Anakin understood the sensation consciously, truly. He had let go of his former self, that little slave boy, and had accepted his new place at his Master’s side. No longer bound by slavery, but bound to this young man who he now trusted more than any other. For the first time, he felt free. 

 

Anakin laughed in surprise at the joy he felt, knowing that Obi-Wan shared in it too. The Padawan enveloped him in a hug, and the Master welcomed it. 

"Now, let's go get some bacta on that eye shall we?"

 

"Aw, do we have to? That stuff stings - "

 

"Yes; it's also good excuse to avoid another lecture from Master Yoda as well."

"Avoid Master Yoda? Why would we _ever_ do that?"

 

Obi-Wan chuckled at the sarcasm in his tone, "That's my Padawan."


	9. Pruning - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split into two parts because it ended up being much longer than intended whoops haha, ok thanks for reading <3

Being entrusted as Anakin Skywalker’s teacher, Obi-Wan Kenobi knew that his task was not one to be taken lightly. The boy was, as most of the Master referred to him colloquially, "rough around the edges", not pruned and trimmed back like the younglings who had resided in the Order since birth. 

 

Mace Windu had informed Obi-Wan, during a private meeting a few days after he had defied the Council to take Anakin as his apprentice, “We trust that you will bring Skywalker ‘up to standard’, shall we say.” 

 

Obi-Wan had only nodded. The comment had felt a slight sting, like a whack on the back of his hand, like the ones the elder Creche Masters gave to unruly younglings. 

Nonetheless, he understood the message. There were basic lessons the desired Obi-Wan to teach Anakin in order for him to gain an understanding of the workings of the Jedi Order. 

 

Basic tenants, principles of the Force, and other fundamental truths were discussed in full, and drilled into Anakin to become second nature on his tongue. The Padawan was clever and quick, though his attention span was sometimes short and his eagerness got the best of him. It did not take long for Obi-Wan to consider him “up to standard”, at least in the Council’s view. 

 

However, there were certain things Obi-Wan had never had to teach the boy. 

 

Anakin was educated in ways that Obi-Wan knew many other Jedi, including members of the Council and himself, would never be. Anakin had lived as a child, free to explore and learn beyond the constraints of a set order. His character was shaped in such a way that certain traits were inherent due not to training, but to experience. He had seen things firsthand and lived through them in ways that no other Jedi could. His emotions were often raw and primal, not dulled back to a level of constant control as the Order demanded. 

 

This sometimes startled Obi-Wan, and made him question: what, then, could ever be the standard for this boy? As an Initiate himself, Obi-Wan had followed the Order’s guidelines strictly. As Padawan to Qui-Gon Jinn, he had begun to see that the black and white lines he had always regarded as right and wrong, truth and falsity, were not so vividly clear. Now, as Master to the Chosen One, Obi-Wan had begun to consider each “standard" with a grain of serrian salt. 

 

Obi-Wan was never always sure how to “prune” the boy, what to let flourish, what to cut back and what to see grow. But he did his best to let Anakin grow, with his feet planted firmly in the soil they stood on together. 

 

Sometimes, however, for Anakin’s sake, he had to cut the parts that hurt the most.

* * *

The air-shuttle was bustling its usual Coruscant early morning bustle, light of dawn still hidden in the smog layered sky above them. Obi-Wan and Anakin, dressed in civilian garb, blended easily into the crowd and made their way to the dock before shuttle 381. The Master stood in a clearing of the crowd, watching his Padawan levitating a few small stones absentmindedly at his side, chewing his lip in thought quietly.

 

Upon the successful bonding of Master and Apprentice, the Council traditionally allowed a transition period that prepared them to participate in missions alongside one another. These Preliminary Mission Tasks were simple enough that experienced Jedi considered them scutwork, but held the right balance of challenge and ease that allowed a newly bonded teacher and student to further work on developing together. 

 

It had never sat well with Obi-Wan that most missions assigned by the High Council were referred to as ‘crises'. An impending dread hung in the air with the word, holding a weight even before stepping on the turf. It did not sit any better with him that his first Preliminary Mission Task with Anakin at his side was attending a Crisis on Thysar. 

 

“Thysar … is on the Outer Rim, right?” Anakin asked, seemingly in reply to his Master’s thoughts. 

 

“That’s right. We will be attending to a small dispute. Nothing Republic related, just planetary politics.” 

 

“Politics?” The sour expression on Anakin's face spoke volumes, nose scrunched up like he had just taken a whiff of the backside of a Hutt. "Wow, I’m gonna have some _great_ stories to tell after this mission alright.”

 

“ _Preliminary_ mission _task_ , young one.”

 

“The word ‘mission’ is in there, isn’t it?”

 

Obi-Wan chuckled, pulling out his data pad, “Since our shuttle isn’t here, we may as well go through our itinerary.  Now, the planet of Thysar has been under Republic influence for a few years, it being located on the threshold of the Outer Rim. The planet’s surface is sectored into three regions: the Kingdom, the Town and the Country. It is a very rural society, banning any advanced electronics and machinery: no droids, no speeders, no commlinks.” 

 

"I'm guessing since Jedi come from Coruscant, they would disaprove of us?" Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan shrugged, “Holding a caution is more suit. War had plagued the planet for many years before the Republic stepped in, and they may just be wary. Their ruler, King Ghideal, issued the ban after his near assassination, thinking it would increase his family's safety."

 

"I guess it didn't work." Anakin said through a chuckle, and Obi-Wan joined him, "Apparently not. His son Prince Cion has been missing for forty-eight hours, still a day short of an alert. The Thysarian House wishes to avoid any scandal by enlisting us to find him first."

 

"A  _day_? That doesn't give us much leeway, does it?"  

 

"We will arrive at Thysar's dawn, so we have nearly twenty-four hours. We will meet with the royals, then search the Town and Country. The timing means this may not be an easy task.”

 

“Then I guess we will have to do what Jedi do best.”

 

Obi-Wan shot the boy a quizzical look, motioning him to take up his luggage as their shuttle huffed into the dock, “Which is?”

 

“Improvise!”

 

The Master rolled his eyes a bit, and Anakin beamed.

 

Upon their departure, the Jedi team had determined their travel would be about a twelve hour journey. They had settled in a seat together in the dark, seedy passenger hold of the shuttle, quiet as to not attract too much attention. Obi-Wan had taken the time to test the boy on a few of the Nine Tenets, which he shot off without skipping a beat. Anakin, in return, had challenged his Master to a game of ‘Truth, Truth, Lie’ which amused them both for a good while. After a few hours Anakin had grown bored and hungry and, with permission, had taken a much needed trip to the restaurant car. He brought back a few juice bulbs and sweet buns to their seat, and after eating had fallen asleep for a while on Obi-Wan's shoulder. 

 

For the first time, the young Master felt excited for them both. Embarking on this adventure together made him feel the kind of anticipation he had as a Padawan to Qui-Gon on their first mission. It was a welcomed sensation. 

* * *

The remainder of the journey through hyperspace was uneventful, and they arrived early - or rather, late - upon Thysar. The moonlit skies were a thick black as their transit landed, releasing passengers not in any docking station but simply onto the quiet plains of deep green turf in the middle of nowhere. Though this both surprised and confused the two Jedi, none of the other passengers were concerned, so they played along with the crowd that mumbled amongst themselves in the dark and began to go separate ways. 

 

Obi-Wan felt his Padawan hanging protectively close to him, a habit of boyhood he had not shaken, clutching their baggage and looking about this way and that as they soon were left alone in the meadow. The Master had pulled back his hood, revealing his loose ruddy hair, to observe the glittered sky curiously. 

 

Without any sign of the Town in the distance and no way of knowing how to reach it, Obi-Wan was reluctant to head for it. Truthfully, it was a good few kilometres away yet and their best bet was to camp and head out at dawn. 

 

Soon, Obi-Wan sat before the tiny fire they had managed atop one of the many hills surrounding the dark horizon, warming his hands that weren't really cold. Anakin slept aside him, his robe a makeshift blanket and a satchel a pillow; he had claimed he wasn't tired, but had been out for the past hour. 

 

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, could not even find the peace enough to meditate. They had a long day ahead, but something else was on his mind. A nagging sensation hung on his thoughts, hinting at something ahead, dark like an approaching storm. He could not sense its intent, its danger, but it carried uneasiness and he did not like it at all. 

 

“Obi-Wan?”

 

Obi-Wan looked over to Anakin, whose blue eyes were hazy. Blonde hair was ruffled from sleep, and the Master couldn’t hide his chuckle.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Thysar. We landed here a few - “

 

“Hmm? It’s dark out.”

 

Anakin blinked, looking about in a delirious worry. Obi-Wan drew nearer to him, smoothing down the messy hair as he soothed him, “It is, isn’t it? It’s alright, young one, you’re safe.”

 

“Hmm.” Anakin nestled closer to the young man, “I had a dream, we were running … running away from something. And I ran away from you. I was scared. I think it was a nightmare.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded. It would not be far-fetched to assume that the nightmare was caused by a similar sensation of uneasiness in the Force. In a similar vein, the nightmare could very well be a premonition, a warning. He did not alert Anakin of such, however. 

 

“Would you follow after me? If I ran … if I ran away …” A yawn took the end of the question away. 

 

“Yes, Padawan. Of course.”

 

And the boy was asleep again. 

 

One part of Obi-Wan wished, for once, something could go smoothly for him and the boy. That they could complete their task with no hiccups, no struggles. But that was not their path, and it had never been. The Force was wise beyond his understanding, and Obi-Wan reminded himself to accept that. 

 

Obi-Wan let himself dwell in it as he drifted to sleep against the boy resting safely near him.


	10. Pruning - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 2, a little late, but here as promised. Two important notes: first, a small tw, I'm going to update the tags because there is a little bit of gore/graphic depictions of a body in this chapter, and it's a bit heavy. Secondly is that there is a cut in the middle and I don't want it to be too confusing but a few minutes happen between the cut; it just made sense to put a cut there, for timings sake. Thank you for reading!

The Crisis on Thysar was far worse than Obi-Wan could have imagined it to be.

Upon arriving into the Kingdom quadrant, after a three hour trek across the Country, it had taken the two of them far too long to convince the Palace guards that they were not foes; a call to Coruscant would have been all it could have taken to secure their titles, but without a commlink Obi-Wan had resorted to a little bit of forceful persuasion. He did not like that Anakin had seen him grow a bit cross, but he had not stopped to dwell on it long.

King Ghideal was a testy and easily infuriated man. Obi-Wan had rarely seen a being so prone to outbursts, enough so that his flock of attendants regularly were required to physically restrain him, cautioning him to sit on his throne and catch his breath. He repeatedly was fixated on the time, the time, the  _time_ , which only left them with about ten hours until a planetary alert was called, and could not be soothed out of his state, no matter what Obi-Wan tried as assurance. It was not unlike a father to be worried about their children, but the King was in a place above and beyond such sentiment; thusly, Obi-Wan had ushered Anakin out quickly with a reassurance to the man that his son would soon be returned.

They had been shuttled in a carriage to the Town, where Prince Cion had rumoured to be hiding. It was a generally populated city, streets lined with cobblestones and centuries old buildings. It seemed generally wealthy and clean, and Palace guards roamed about in small groups. Some women handed out flimsi that broadcasted the Prince's disappearance, and Obi-Wan had accepted one to study. The Prince was a boy that was nearly a man, a hardness to the thinned eyes that hinted at a suppressed defiance.

Anakin had been the one to alert his Master of a suspicious looking pack of boys hovering around in an alleyway, and they had questioned them promptly. There were four of them, all looked under sixteen standards years old and children of the streets. Obi-Wan could see in their bloodshot eyes, as well as by the stray vials around their feet, andris must have been in their system, which made him consider their every word with caution.

"Took off, he did. Took off, off planet … to Corellia, or …" The tallest boy said lazily, last word trailing off with no intention of finishing.

"When? How do you know?" Anakin asked, snapping his fingers near the boys face to focus him, "Did you see him?"

"S'one sold him a cruiser, nice class-B frigate," Another one of the children spoke up, looking a bit more alert, "I saw … the money, he gave, lots of money."

"Leaving the nest." Obi-Wan sighed, "Off to find himself in a heap of trouble on a different planet."

"Do we send an alert out, then?" Anakin said, following as his Master turned away from the boys, "Is this a Republic problem now?"

Obi-Wan chuckled, "Everything is a Republic problem, Padawan. The Prince is at little risk, but it is important to locate him before someone else does and uses him to their advantage - "

"He's not gone."

The pair turned around again. The same boy, with bright brown eyes, shook his head in confirmation.

"Heard him. Heard them say, he is here, he is on Thysar. Mu- munici … mu - "

"Munitions?"

The boy nodded furiously, "Munitions, his Highness went for them. But he is here, now, I saw his freighter, at dawn."

Obi-Wan's mind worked quickly as it processed, Anakin watching him intently. That sickening feeling, that uneasiness, swelled inside him sharply like a wave of nausea. His Padawan sensed it. They both did. But it had been too late.

* * *

 The Prince bombed the Town. 

Obi-Wan's lungs burned, every breath a scalding cold in his chest that made each inhale more dreadful than the last. But he kept breathing, kept pumping his legs at an impossibly frantic pace, shooting looks over his shoulder every few moments to ensure his Padawan did the same. Anakin's eyes were dead set ahead of them, not daring to look back.

Behind them, billowing smoke was catching up quickly, fire roaring and fuelled by the frigid air. What used to be a whole complex of buildings was becoming nothing more than ash. It was a death none of them could control.

Steps faltered as someone sped past him, clipping Obi-Wan's shoulder. It was a Thysarian man, arms full of belongings that he had probably gathered in haste. A small furry creature skittered behind his heels, following its owner in haste.

Around them, street was filled with people, families, running for their lives. Some were loaded with bags and packs, others pushed carts, some even rode on the backs of laden beasts. There were no screams, no shouts of panic or distress. The desperate silence chilled the air, amplifying the sound of the roaring flames behind them.

Again, Obi-Wan looked back at his apprentice, who was slowing slightly in fatigue.  _Steady on_ , the Master spoke into their bond gently. Anakin sent back an affirming gesture. He understood how difficult it was to press on, in the face of a failed mission. Failure was certainly not what Obi-Wan had wished for them, for Anakin. Not so soon. Not like this.

Above them, the dusky sky hinted nothing of the assault cruiser that had just launched an artillery barrage on the Town minutes ago. The Prince had done exactly as he had planned. Whatever seed of vengeance had been burrowing inside him had finally bloomed into realization. He had done his deed, shown his father exactly what he thought of his inheritance, his culture, his legacy. He had spat on it. And then, he had fled like the flickering stars that faded to fullness in the increasing night, not a trace to be seen besides the burning residue below -

Anakin was gone. Obi-Wan sensed it before he even looked back, and his eyes found him again quickly among the throng cluttering his vision, a figure crouched on one knee on the side of the street. He went to him without hesitation, pushing a few Thysarian's aside in his unconscious worry.

Before him, the boy knelt on the duracrete. The heat from a nearby building singed the air, and Obi-Wan shielded his eyes a bit. Anakin did not seem affected. No, he was concerned with something much more grave.

The body of a Thysarian girl lie face down on the ground. She could only be two or three years old. Her dress was blackened, scalded skin covering her exposed arms. She was very, very still.

"She's breathing," Anakin said quietly, still conscious of the eerie silence around them. Fire crackled nearby, wind whistled it to burn faster, but it was still frighteningly quiet.

Obi-Wan watched the child aspirate slowly, erratically. His Padawan reached out and took one of the small hands into his own.

Anakin spoke again, eyes not moving ahead of him, sharp desperation to his voice, "We have to save her, Master."

The rational part of Obi-Wan figured the girl had burns that were third degree, or worse. The impact of a high velocity blast even meters near a child was enough to kill them. Considering she had also been projected from a building, slammed with similar impetus to the ground, her probability of life was low.

The emotional part of Obi-Wan was frozen. He could not get his thoughts to work, his body to move, his words to respond. The weight of the tragedy suddenly collapsed on him in a way that was so tangibly real. The weight of failure, of despair. It all was so heavy.

Obi-Wan sensed, through their young and still fragile bond, the depth of pain in the boy. The desire to attain the unattainable. To save everyone, to risk his own life foolishly for another. It overstepped the tenets of the Order that Anakin knew well, the ones he understood in theory but not in practice. Not yet.

The desire was as delicate as a flower. As white as innocence. But it was a weed.

Obi-Wan made a choice, in that moment.

He had to prune the boy back. He had to cut the weed.

"Come, Padawan."

The boy didn't move, barely registering the words.

"There is no more we can do for her."

"... we can take her back to our ship, we have med supplies right? Bacta, a-and stim-shots, and synthflesh, we can bring her to Coruscant Medical and they can treat her better there -"

"Padawan." The title was not spoken with the edge of warning it sometimes held.

"Don't tell me we can't save her, because we can and you know we can."

"This is not about that."

"What do you mean? We can't leave her here to die!"

"What does the Jedi Code tell you, young one?"

Anakin finally met his eyes. His voice was laced with tears, but he spoke the tenet firmly. " _A Jedi must put the need of the community over the needs of individuals … the good of all must be his goal_."

"If we do not go now, we are risking hundreds of more lives. The Thysarian people need us to take them to safety. We cannot stray from our mission."

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder, but the boy harshly shrugged him off. What he was asking of him was something he knew, one day, all young Jedi had to learn. He had learned this the hard way, forsaking the Order to assist the Young in the Melida/Daan crisis. Death was a part of life. Clinging to every soul lost, to the guilt of losing it, was useless. It was dangerous.

He was asking the boy not to feel. Not to sympathize with the girl, not to fight for her life. It seemed a heartless action, to trim this part back in Anakin. But for the sake of the many, it had to be done.

Obi-Wan reached toward the girl, then, placing a hand on her head. The skin was hot to the touch. He closed his eyes, and sent a soothing wave of the Force to her weak aura, cutting her off best he could from pain and awareness.

"May the Force be with you."

And he ended her life.

Anakin rose after a moment, a steely determination falling over him, and he walked past his Master and began a jog away out of the Town. Through their bond, the guilt and the anger and the sadness flooded Obi-Wan. For both their sakes, he shut it out.

Instead, he did what he promised the boy he would do. As he imagined he would be doing for a very long time. Pruning, weeding, trimming, blooming, planted together and rooted in the Force. This was his duty, above all others.

Obi-Wan followed after his Padawan.


	11. Keepsakes

 

“Alright, saber up.”

 

Anakin followed, raising his arms and holding his lightsaber forward. The blade was short and green, giving off a hum that was gentler than that of a true Jedi-crafted blade. 

 

“Ready stance.”

 

The arms were moved, angling the blade a bit, and boots shifted and planted sturdily on the training mat a few feet apart. Anakin crouched slightly, relaxing his knees, just like he had been taught. 

 

“Very good. Form Three is otherwise known as ...”

 

“Soresu.”

 

“And?”

 

“And the Way of the Mynock ... and the Resilience Form.”

 

“What are its basic traits?”

 

“It’s a non-aggressive form that relies on tight bladework and subtle dodges, providing maximum defence coverage.”

 

“Anything more?”

 

“Um ... it is alike to Makashi.”

 

“In which ways?”

 

“It, uh ... is energy efficient and economizes use of motion.”

 

“Well done, Padawan.”

 

Anakin grinned, spinning his saber in his grip once before taking a bow before his Master. 

 

Obi-Wan returned the gesture from his place seated crossed legged on the mat a few feet away from the boy. The training area was quiet this early in the day, which provided a serene environment ideal for the kind of drills he ran with the boy. Sunlight was just beginning to peek into the tall windows, hum of traffic growing audible as the city planet outside began to wake. 

 

“At ease, young one.”

 

The shoulders were loosened and feet returned to centre position as Anakin obeyed.

 

“Now, once you are centred in the Force, we can begin with a few reflexive drills.”

 

“Yes, Master.” 

 

Obi-Wan watched attentively as Anakin’s breathing slowed, quieting and stilling his movements. He was getting better at performing simple meditations such as these and _not_ accidentally falling asleep, which was an improvement; it was a common error for young ones, and one Obi-Wan knew he hadn’t been immune to himself. 

 

As an apprentice, some of Obi-Wan’s fondest memories were that of saber drills and katas sessions with his Master. Qui-Gon had always been fond of early rises, and Obi-Wan continued the tradition with his own Padawan. Thought he knew well of the boy’s chagrin at waking up in the morning - at anytime - Obi-Wan also was not surprised Anakin rose even earlier than he on days when they planned to train. 

 

It was every Younglings dream to one day wield a lightsaber in battle, and there were rarely any days void of the little ones running through the Halls of the Jedi Temple making the characteristic humming noise and play fighting with their peers. The hopes of Initiates were high during History classes, learning of the legendary excursions made to the caves of Illum by Jedi generations before, facing the trials and temptations of the caverns to pass the ultimate test and craft a blade of their very own. 

 

As a Padawan, Anakin’s excitement of mastering a lightsaber came as no surprise. All of these previous stages of excitement and anticipation were condensed into the boy, considering his late start in the Order, and Obi-Wan had to suppress a smile each time he looked upon him throughout these sessions. During drills, Anakin was composed and reserved, extremely alert and responsive; when relaxed, the boy inside him came out again, eyes bright and excited and eager. Some may say overeager, but Obi-Wan did not. The joy he radiated in the Force was blindingly contagious. 

 

After some time, Obi-Wan rose to his feet, quietly as to not disturb, moving to the wall behind him lined with a few storage units to retrieve a training remote for some deflection practice. However, footsteps pattered excitedly to his side, eliciting a soft chuckle too quiet for the boy to hear. 

 

"Y'know Master Drallig said that he'd be organizing a group of Initiates to visit the Upper District? They're gonna help to choose the durasteel sheets used to make sabre casings!" 

 

Obi-Wan nodded, fiddling with the power cell of the remote as he listened, ”Master Drallig is very keen to get a saber into the hands of any Jedi. He believes the art form we learn is crucial in the development of any Jedi at any point in their training.” 

 

“When did you get your first real lightsaber?”

 

“I was just a standard year or so older than you are now."

 

“Is Illum as cold as people say?" 

 

“Colder." 

 

“Wizard ... Jiri Wells went just last week and built her saber, and she got so cold she caught frostbite! I stayed away from her though." 

 

"I don't doubt it. The art of making a saber requires intense concentration and meditation, and it is easy to lose oneself to time; under the extremities, injuries can occur quickly. A Master must be diligent in monitoring their apprentices condition." 

 

“You wouldn't let me freeze, would you?" 

 

Obi-Wan smiled slyly, ”As much as I would like to try, no." 

 

“Ah, I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” Anakin teased, tossing his lightsaber from hand to hand. His Master scoffed. 

 

“And for the record, frostbite is _acquired_ , it is not contagious. You can't catch it from someone else."

 

Anakin nodded, a relief coming over his face, “ _Oh_. That's good; I was worried." 

 

The young Master flicked his head in the direction the larger sparring mat, and Anakin followed and went to it. It was a better place for remote drills thanks to the soft cushion it provided, perfect for catching startled falls in wake of the gentle shocks one received after an error stroke. By far, Anakin took advantage of the mat, and it was an accomplishment to leave his remote drills without having fallen at least five or six times. 

 

Anakin stood in the centre of the mat, sending some blood to his muscles by bouncing on the toes of his boots. Obi-Wan had taught him that trick.  “How high is the setting?" 

 

“Only zero decimal five." 

 

“… could you turn it down a little?" 

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, “The motivation to deflect shots comes greatly from the consequence of being struck, Padawan." 

 

It was the same phrase Obi-Wan gave him every time he asked this, which was every time they did remote drills. That didn't mean Anakin stopped asking, however. 

 

“It's only that ... I feel like I could drop my sabre if I get hit! Then, I'll cut my whole foot off! I’ll be maimed - " 

 

“Your practice saber is barely just powerful enough to burn." 

 

"I could accidentally... throw it?" 

 

“There is this mystical element called the Force; I'm sure you've heard of it." Obi-Wan quipped, pressing a few buttons on the controller and letting the remote hover up from his palm, “You should be happy I haven't introduced you to the blast helmet yet." 

 

“Blast helmet? What, you mean this isn't even as bad as it's going to get?” 

 

The concern in the boy's tone was not as worried as the look in his blue eyes. 

 

“Sabre up, ready stance." 

 

Anakin obeyed, turning the grimace on his face a reluctance to one of determination. That was a quality in him that Obi-Wan hoped he would never lose: Turning his frustration or reluctance or hesitance into motivation, filtering the strong feelings into the force and out through his body into physical drive. 

 

The small, round Marksman-H approached the boy and hovered at shoulder height, moving left and right an erratic jumps; right now, it was only programmed to be mildly adaptive. If one were attentive enough, picking up on its programmed body target zones and its strategic movements would be simple. Soon, Anakin would graduate to practicing against the droid with its intelligence setting active, allowing the droid able to learn its opponent moves and strategize against them. That required and entire different set of skills, and eventually with out the aid of one's eyes the Force would be needed almost entirely in order to succeed. 

 

Anakin was faring well, a little more alert early on than usual. It often took a few stings to get him into a mode of immersion in the Force and concentration, the slight tinges of pain just enough motivation. Obi-Wan watched carefully as he paced slowly around the mat, noting how the boy used his sabre to parry with a loose and flexible wrist. 

 

_He's utilizing_ sun djem _techniques_ , Obi-Wan noticed subtly by the characteristic defensive slashes of his blade. This Form I technique was not unuseful, but it was not something Obi-Wan had told the boy about yet.  This didn't concern him strongly, but he highly doubted that Anakin had been doing any light reading on lightsaber techniques and his spare time. 

 

_It could be that one of his peers had passed it on._ _Or maybe Master Drallig has mentioned it?_  

 

"Kriff!"

 

An inhaled sound of pain through clenched teeth, and Anakin was down on the mat, the sting hitting his calf.

 

“Language, young one." 

 

“ _That_ hurt," Anakin replied in a whine, rubbing the spot to relieve the burn a bit. 

 

Obi-Wan pause the remote, “You were alert from the start, which is an improvement. What did you fail to observe?" 

 

"I was focused on body targets one, two, and three but forgot that eventually the droid would stop going for what I could block." Anakin took the outstretched hand of his Master and stood again, “Was my stance too wide again? I remembered that last time you said my feet could be closer together; I read up on some Form One techniques that said ‘a ready stance should be comfortable but wary, no tension and no hesitation’, and -“

 

Anakin stopped himself, seeing Obi-Wan’s eyebrows lift slightly and the blue-grey eyes blink as they met his own. 

 

“There’s ‘The Look’ again.” The boy huffed, “Am I talking too fast?”

 

“You are saying too many things at once. Clarify your words, Padawan.”

 

“The Look”, branded by Anakin himself, was one he knew better than any command, could recognize within half-seconds, and always understood. Obi-Wan usually could not consciously acknowledge he was giving it, until Anakin responded however, and it only irked him a tiny bit that his Padawan was this keen; it kept the boy on his toes without his Master having to pester him so often. 

 

“I felt tense, just now, in my ready stance, but you didn’t seem to mind. Should I adjust it Master?”

 

“Let me see ... saber up, in ready stance.” 

 

Obi-Wan said as he placed the remote down, moving to assess the boy. Eyes scanned as he walked, taking in the form that was increasingly growing to meet his own height, but still soft as a youngling’s was, void of that battle-hardened edge of a Jedi still. 

 

Feet widened, arms extended ... yes, Obi-Wan detected the tension that accompanied the position. He placed a hand on Anakin’s left shoulder, both of which were raised, drawing attention there.

 

“You were right in saying your feet can be closer in position, which you’ve already corrected slightly. Let the weight of your arms allow your shoulders to fall more naturally; tension there allows precision, but is quickly fatiguing.”

 

Anakin nodded, feeling the change as he relaxed. “Yeah ... that’s better. Form One defensive stances need precision, that’s probably what I was caught up on.”

 

“That is correct; defensive stances also call for wariness, but not at the expense of ease of motion. I also saw you were utilizing some elements of _sun djem_. Which methodology of Form One have you been referring to?”

 

“Um, it was just a beginner’s guide I think.”

 

That tone was, unfortunately for Anakin, all too telling of something suspicious. Obi-Wan waited, the question in his eyes silent, and the boy sighed heavily in guilt. 

 

“Alright, alright … I didn’t want you to be upset - “

 

“When you keeps things from me, Padawan, no matter the motive, I am already upset. There is nothing you should hide from me.”

 

“I know.” Anakin averted his gaze, “It’s not like that … it isn’t something  _bad_."

 

Obi-Wan did not show the confusion he felt, remaining neutral. He knew the boy was not lying in that what he was withholding was not something wrong. _But what, then?_

 

Anakin left his side for a moment, retreating to his knapsack tossed along the wall of the room, and returning. A small bound book was in his hands, made of flimsiplast, the pages slightly yellowed from age. It looked almost like a journal. 

 

“I found it in our quarters.”

 

Obi-Wan accepted the book, smoothing a hand over the blank cover before opening it. The inside leaf read in scribbled Aurebesh, “Insights and Inquiries into Extended Form I Techniques” and below it was signed, “Qui-Gon Jinn”. 

 

Obi-Wan was sure he had seen this before, if only in passing glance in the times his Master called him into his sleeping chambers. Those times were few and far between, mostly out of a respect of Qui-Gon’s privacy; nearly every moment of his Padawanhood was spent at the man’s side, so allowing one another a sacred place of privacy was an agreement made between them. But like all secret places, it held an air of mystery and marvel that certainly was much more wondrous in Obi-Wan’s imagination than in tangible reality. 

 

He could recall the first time his Master bade him inside, when he was fourteen years old and deathly ill with Ithorian flu picked up after a particularly strenuous mission. The deliriousness of fever had plagued him for days, and after two nights of no sleep and no instruction from the Healing Halls aside from “fluids and rest”, Qui-Gon had grown fed up. Upon consulting Tahl, who had always been holistic in her own way, Qui-Gon had spent a few hours with his nose in a flimsiplast and plucking plants from their hydroponic herb garden.

 

“Come here, young one."

 

Obi-Wan, who had been peeking through the door, had entered slowly, an inexplicable mix of reluctance and curiosity overwhelming him. 

 

The room had been shaped identical to his own, warm and small and not overly generous as to reflect the Order’s views of a Jedi’s need for posessions. A closet along the wall had been mostly empty, the hem of a dark robe peeking out through the edge of it. There had been a shelf of datapads of various sizes and ages, some even made of flimsi, the bindings and casings lined with title script instantly familiar as classic Jedi texts.

 

Qui-Gon had been sitting on his cot, a pair of spectacles he rarely used resting on the end of his nose, his journal in one hand and pestle and mortar in the other. “This balm should help with your fever; its base is Treeman’s herb.” 

 

Obi-Wan had nodded groggily, the haze of fever making him barely conscious enough to stand. His Master had helped him out of his overshirt, spread the balm on his cough-stricken chest, covered it with a hot cloth, and laid him down to rest. He swore he recalled Qui-Gon sitting at the bedside quietly writing in his journal during his sleep, eyes occasionally falling on his still form. He had awoke a few hours later, a little cooler and back in his own room; a warm comfort, however, had lingered over him for a long while. 

 

It was an imprint in his memory, distinct and clear, like a box of keepsakes where pictures of Qui-Gon lived in his mind. This place, as comforting and safe as it was, was just as much so painful. He did not often return to consciously to keep this ache away.  Thus, now, presented with this physical memento, thrusting him unknowingly to this place, Obi-Wan was taken aback. That pain in him was sharp and instant, as if the notebook in his hand was covered in thorns, a poison running quickly to his heart and seizing it in sorrow. 

 

Obi-Wan hadn't realized, but minutes had passed. Anakin, however, was sensitive as he was, generous in wait. The slight guilt that transferred from the boy to his Master in the Force was overshadowed by the emotions flooding from Master to apprentice.  Obi-Wan looked to him the instant he sensed the boy reach for him in the Force, like a timid child grabbing the hem of his robe, and he shut off those feelings as quick as he could - 

 

“It’s okay.” Anakin shook his head, unspoken meaning laced within the tone, the gesture to the bond welcoming Obi-Wan to relax. 

 

Obi-Wan, though hesitant, did so. 

 

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Master." Anakin whispered the apology sincerely, but his tone lifted. "I found it and ... I felt like I should read it, like I _had_ to read it. It felt almost like Master Qui-Gon was talking to me, y'know? Like he was _telling_ me these things, through his words, and ... I don't know, the Force ... I felt it was speaking to me."

 

It was then when Obi-Wan realized the selfishness of his actions. In his keepsakes of Qui-Gon Jinn were a vast collection of memories, of sly exchanges and wise phrases, of proud pats on the back and and teasing jabs to his side and affectionate glances. But Anakin had so few of these moments. This journal was his way of learning more about his mentor, of connecting to the man that had just as much an impact on his life as he did on Obi-Wan's. Whether or not the old book was a conduit of the Living Force, as Anakin seemed to be implying it was, it was special to him. 

 

This shared connection to Qui-Gon Jinn was an important aspect of their bond. Obi-Wan would have asked it to be no other way. 

 

He placed the worn journal again in his Padawan's hands, and Obi-Wan nodded. "It speaks to me as well, in a similar way. Master Qui-Gon said Living Force works in ways we do not understand, but to trust in it is to place faith in something you should have no fear in abiding in."

 

Anakin looked down at the book, and back up, a question in his eyes, "Are ... you saying I can keep it?!"

 

The Master laughed, "I very well can't confiscate it from you now, can I?"

"Thanks Obi-Wan - I mean, Master, I'll make sure nothing happens to it!" The boy grinned, running back to tuck it away in his knapsack. "Last night  I read in here that Master Qui-Gon liked Ataru _much_ better than Shii-Cho anyways and spends a _lot_ of the time comparing the forms! There was something really funny he put about Form One being for Younglings who can't learn the basics of blocking and I laughed so much  I almost spilled tea on it, but don't worry, everything was fine - oh, but I broke the teacup, I forgot to tell you! I'll be sure to replace it, maybe I can get one from the cafeteria? But those ones aren't as nice and the hot water makes them break -"

 

"Padawan."

"Master Qui-Gon liked sapir tea, didn't he? He talked about that too, that and other healing herbs, and even put in a whole chapter about herbal healing and recipes for teas and balms and salves and stuff like that, but I skipped some of it cause I prefer caf over tea _any_ day - "

 

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said firmer, seeing the boy had swung his pack onto his shoulders and was heading for the door, "We aren't finished your drills yet!"  


"It's almost ten, Master, the Initiate Classes start soon!" Anakin called back, already halfway out the door; one quick glance to the chrono on the wall behind him confirmed it, and Obi-Wan huffed, following after him.  _Great. This is the second time this week he's managed to get out of this._

 

"You were spaced out for longer than you thought I guess!"

 

"Or could it be that you didn't have the heart to disturb me so you could pass the time and avoid drills?"

 

Obi-Wan shot him 'The Look', this time intentionally. Anakin forced back a smile. 

 

Somewhere, Obi-Wan mused, he knew his Master was smiling too.  


	12. Enough

“Loosen up, Oafy; you look about as happy as a jumped-up Corellian dirt farmer with a rake up his - “

 

“Garen, there’s a hoard of younglings right in front of us, I would highly advise against that euphemism.”

 

Garen Muln rolled his eyes overtly. From Obi-Wan's side, the young man folded his arms and shot back, “Oh, sorry _mother_ , I didn’t mean to upset you."

 

_Bold move_ , Ob-Wan thought, knowing Siri Tachi would have none of it, per usual. She raised her eyebrows in warning, ready with a list of clever quips Obi-Wan knew - from experience - she had up her sleeve. 

 

Before they could start, Obi-Wan held up a hand to mediate, “We'd best not start this argument again; not at least until the young ones have departed.”

 

Garen huffed, Siri dismissing it, and Obi-Wan laughed softly. 

 

From their vantage point standing on the threshold of the large landing platform, around twenty or thirty Jedi Initiates murmured and bustled about, the Force almost glowing with the collected spirit of excitement. The yearly Initiate trip had been on all their minds for the past standard month, having spent that time preparing schedules, packing supplies, and learning all they could about the wildlife and climate of Dantooine. Each child was equipped with a large knapsack and wore an auburn coloured piece of fabric on their outer layer of their robes to help their accompanying Jedi Masters identify them quickly in a crowd, or in the vast forested areas of Dantooine. 

 

The journey would be a challenging one, assessing the youngling’s survival skills, teamwork, and determination. Tests of endurance and patience came alongside, all traits not a lot dissimilar to elements Jedi Knights faced during missions everyday; preparing the young ones for the kinds of experiences they would encounter throughout their lives was not only elementary, but crucial. Many young ones would very well face death if not careful, and remaining mindful of the Living Force could determine the line between success and failure, survival and demise.

 

However, none of that was on the children’s minds, not yet, only a near tangible sensation of wonder. Some of them held datapads and looked over area maps of Dantooine’s terrain to memorize them; when the time came, they would be on their own to navigate. Other young ones were loading small boxes of rations that would be distributed on-planet. And still others were simply playing, hide and seek and chase games and “who can levitate this pebble the highest?” Their respective Masters looked on, adding a warm buzz of nostalgia to the air; it seemed not long ago they stood in their Padawan’s boots, bright and fervent and eager for adventure. 

 

Thanks to Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan still felt acquainted with these sensations everyday. 

 

Like a doting parent, his eyes traced the crowd for Anakin every so often to ensure he was keeping out of trouble. Sandy blond hair bounced around as he chased after one of his peers, that smile on his face never fading. Subconsciously, the young Master mirrored it. 

 

“Little Skywalker’s looking great,” Garen commented, nudging his old friend a bit as he did, “Keeping him on his toes?”

 

“You’ve got it backwards. I’ve been on my toes for so long I feel like I must be levitating by now.” Obi-Wan shook his head, “Anakin has been anticipating this trip from the moment he heard about it. I chased him around the Archive Library for a standard hour last week when he needed to ‘do research’; it turns out the Archives hold exactly two-thousand-seven-hundred and seven bookchips on Dantooine climate and terrain alone.”

 

Garen laughed, “Not a lot unlike a certain studious Padawan once was, huh?”

 

“Hmm. You have a point.” 

 

“Even Ferus seems excited.” Garen noted, and Siri nodded. The boy was currently working with a few others in counting rations, laughing when a peer tossed one playfully at him. 

 

“He was more reluctant last night, pale as the underside of Hutt. The thought of spending nearly two weeks away from the Temple didn’t put him at ease.”

 

“Homesickness is one of the most probable causes of failure during this trip.” Obi-Wan observed, “Much of the reason they are away for such a length is to see how they fare."

 

Upon his words, Obi-Wan took into account that he had seen no signs or symptoms of such in Anakin. The boy had been nothing but a ball of delight, charged with anticipation. Almost every night, he had fallen asleep at his desk into a bookchip about Dantooine. He had worn his knapsack around their quarters constantly as “practice”. Obi-Wan had gifted him with a new pair of boots, sturdier and good for climbing terrain, he had beamed with pride. Obi-Wan had not detected any reluctance or worry for the boy in himself, or in Anakin. 

 

That was his error. He had no idea if Anakin had ever spent such a length of time away from a place he called his “home” during his life on Tatooine. Upon his arrival to Coruscant subsequent to the Crisis on Naboo, he had been transitioned smoothly into the safety of the Jedi Order and experienced little repercussions. But now, he would be away from the security of a close guardian, left without the comfort of a mentor. 

 

“Remember when Reed Obor got so homesick he nearly jumped out of that tree?” Garen recalled the memory from their own Initiate trip, “His eyes were all wild like he was strung up on a weeks supply of andris, poor kid.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, “The feelings were prevalent in all of us, though varying in degrees.”

 

“One night, the group I was with all held hands until we fell asleep.” Siri chuckled, “That little bit of comfort seemed to take the edge off the fear."

 

The memory made it easy to imagine those feelings again, of missing the solace of Qui-Gon’s presence and the warmth of his quarters. Of course Anakin was not showing these signs of fear, or worry, or anxiety - he was hiding them, and fiercely at that. 

 

A stab of concern hit him, and Obi-Wan found Anakin’s form in the crowd again, this time speaking with a T3-series utility droid that was working on the hull of the cruiser that would be their transport on their journey. A few other younglings stood around, fascinated at the boy’s ability to emulate binary.

 

"This kind of attachment to a physical home should hopefully be redirected into knowing the safety and comfort of the Force, and in one’s comrades.” Siri added, focusing Obi-Wan’s attention again, "I let Ferus know I was confident that his training had equipped him for the task, and to loosen up a little.” 

 

“Not a lot unlike what _I_ still tell _you_ \- “

 

“Why are you here again Garen?” Siri stepped to stand in front of him, “You don’t even have an apprentice."

 

“Damp down your power core, Tachi! I’m one of the Masters accompanying the trip.” Garen said matter-of-factly, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out on your little one for you.”

 

“I’m sure Ferus can manage fine on his own without your _guidance_ , Garen. Force forbid you corrupt him with your terrible wisecracks and foul language.”

 

Garen let out a high noise of offence, but Obi-Wan clapping his shoulder with reassurance. 

 

“Anakin may need some watching over, if you would oblige. I fear … he is presenting less of the worry he is feeling inside.”

 

“For sure, Obi - "

 

A sharp whistle cut through the noise, made by one of the Masters to gather the Initiates attention, calling them to heed their final instructions before they boarded to depart. At that, the young Master’s own worry was almost visible, tension in his shoulders and thinning the eyes, turning the mouth in a grimace.  

 

“It might not hurt to let him know you’ll be here for him when he returns.” Garen was sombre then, more sensitive than before, "A pep talk, a bit of a morale boost, y’know.”

 

Obi-Wan turned to meet Garen’s eyes, heart fluttering a bit. “Will that not make it worse?”

 

“One good thing about a homesick youngling is knowing they feel they have something worth missing. Anakin trusts you; just let him know you trust him too.” 

 

It took a moment, but Obi-Wan nodded. Siri laughed, however, causing him to give her a look. 

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“You really are dense sometimes, Kenobi.”

 

“Dense?”

 

“You look like you’re going to speak before the Chancellor or a Separatist leader - it’s only your Padawan.” Siri softened her tone, “You underestimate yourself. No matter how inelegant or uncomfortable it may seem, whatever you tell him will be exactly what he needs."

 

Siri’s smile washed over him, instilling a confidence she always seemed to elude. The Initiates before them began to disperse, some running aboard the cruiser and others heading to give their final farewells to their friends and Masters. Ferus quickly approached them, giving his teacher a low bow; Siri returned the gesture, adjusting her apprentices knapsack one last time and quietly speaking final assurances. 

 

Anakin was just a quick to find him, hair ruffled as it usually was from play and mouth running a click a minute, “Master! The cruiser we’re taking has an engine even bigger than one on a class-three frigate! The maintenance droid told me it will run fast enough to get us to Dantooine in about seven hours. Isn’t that wizard?"

 

“Indeed it is.” Obi-Wan nodded, adjusting the boy’s crooked tunic, “Did you remember to pack your utility tool?”

 

Anakin reached into the pocket on his belt, holding up the small tool with a grin, “Yep! Jiri gave me some of her polish and it shined it up too!” 

 

It was hard to ease the smile on his face, but Obi-Wan tried his best, kneeling before the boy. Anakin instantly sensed the solemnity, meeting him with big blue eyes. Like usual, they seemed to soothe him, making this just a little easier. Just a little. 

 

 

“You have done well to prepare yourself physically for this adventure; I have a great amount of faith in you that you will fare well and succeed. As much as this trip will test your knowledge and physical capabilities, it will also challenge your emotions and wellbeing. There may be times when you will feel frustrated, or angered. You will grow tired, and fatigue lends easily to anxiety and fear.” 

 

Anakin nodded back. The way he blinked, however, signalled to Obi-Wan he was being just a bit too technical, as usual. The young Master placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder then, whispering, “I do not one feeling of fear or worry to dwell on being absent from my side. There is not one moment where I am not with you. Do not forget that.” 

 

Gently, Obi-Wan reached out to him, smoothing down his disheveled hair, a gesture quick but meaningful. Through the Force, he reached out to their bond, sensing the boy’s fragility and dispelling it with the reassurance of his words, hinted with his pride and devotion.

 

Strangely, an impulse found him, one Obi-Wan knew he could not define if pressed, complex with layers of meaning but as simple as the warmth in his stomach: he wanted to embrace his Padawan. The gesture was not foreign between them, but had never been initiated by Obi-Wan himself. It was an inclination he had felt a few times between his own Master, but not usually acted upon. Obi-Wan, more literal in nature, had understood the depth of Qui-Gon’s care for him was deep, almost endless, and the act of physical reassurance was not needed. 

 

But Anakin, driven by a fervent and caring heart, seemed to yearn for this. The blue eyes were glossy, and Obi-Wan was lost in them; he acted before this fleeting feeling fled from them. 

 

The hand on Anakin’s shoulder slipped down behind his back, and the boy was drawn close into his embrace.

 

The depth of care Obi-Wan had for him seemed even deeper than what he felt for his former Master. It did not feel forbidden, nothing ruled by passion or any frivolous emotion. It was a kind of care that only wanted the best for him, one that could not be explained with any words, one that burned brighter than all the stars the night sky. One that seemed he could only express to Anakin in this way. 

 

It was enough. Anakin seemed to sense the significance of the gesture, and Obi-Wan smiled as the boy clung tightly back to him, lingering in the refuge of his arms. 

 

Soon, the Master gestured the boy to run along, and Anakin did so, sending him back on last wave and a smile as he joined his peers on the cruiser. Siri found his side, and Obi-Wan could sense the “ _I-told-you-so”_ in her stance. Before he could comment, she spoke up first.

 

“I suppose I was only partly right.” 

 

Obi-Wan squinted a bit, “How so?"

 

“It turned out Anakin needed no words at all. You were all he needed in the end.” 

 

Siri patted his shoulder gently, and Obi-Wan beamed. 


	13. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you to everyone who has read so far! So sorry for the delay, but here’s another chapter! I have another pre-written that should be up in the next few days as well! Enjoy and please leave a review!

While passing through the Personal Quarters Level on their way about the Temple, Jedi young and old would often play a game colloquially called something along the lines of ‘what are Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker up to now’? The cacophony of sounds almost constantly coming from within the quarters of the famed duo consisted of anything and everything, from overlapped shouting to rustling and rattling, and sometimes even small explosions. 

 

Thus, it left a lot of room for creative guessing as to what these sounds were tied to. Most outlandish suggestions were usually tempered with reason: “They must just be bickering again” being the most common and understandable one, as well as “Maybe they’re doing some sparring practice”. However, the wilder guesses were more often than not correct. 

 

One night, when their room was abuzz with raised voices, most thought they were arguing. In reality, Anakin had been memorizing terms for a Planetology test by shouting the definition as loud as he could while running back and forth across their dining area; apparently, maintaining constant motion helped his brain to work best. Obi-Wan, in turn and not one to discourage the boy from studying in any form, shouted at him the terms, sitting cross-legged on their dining table. When the sound of what likely could have been two people reorganizing furniture was heard, in reality Obi-Wan was teaching Anakin Force ambi-navigational techniques using a blindfold and a few randomly placed chairs (which the boy bumped into repeatedly). One afternoon most guessers were correcting when they heard shrieking and clamouring and, oddest of all,  _croaking_ : Anakin has brought six tiny frogs in to swim in their quarters bath, and soon the whole Temple knew just how much Master Kenobi _hated_  amphibians - at least, when they were in his washroom. 

 

Temple Guards were called by their confused or annoyed neighbours at least once a week to attend to the noises. Obi-Wan Kenobi was always flustered as he answered the door, gracious and full of “I apologize sincerely”’s and “thank you for your concern”’s, but flustered nonetheless. Anakin Skywalker would appear, often hiding shyly and protectively behind his Master’s robe with a few quiet apologies spoken softly from behind a sly and betraying smirk. 

 

Usually the Guards would give them a stern warning, but most often they would be trying their best to hide back their own smiles. They knew that despite Kenobi and Skywalker’s good intentions that they would be back again soon with another story to tell their colleagues in return. 

 

One particular evening when an alert came in near to midnight, the caller complaining of “disturbing metal clunks and clangs” and “something that smells like burnt duracrete”, the Guards had to draw straws to see who would be the highly coveted ones chosen to grace the scene. 

 

For as it was for almost any Jedi, the chance to interact with Master Kenobi and his Padawan was not one to turn down, and would never be one to forget. 

 

* * *

 

“ _Kriffing_ gundarks,” Obi-Wan mumbled, sending a puff of air upwards to blow sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead for what seemed like the fifteenth time. “Anakin! I need your help!”

 

“ _You_ need _my_ help? Isn’t that a surprise!”

 

The voice was high and incredulous, tinged with laughter from across the room. The blond boy shot a look to his Master over his shoulder. Obi-Wan wondered for a split-second how the Force the boy had grown so curt and _witty_  - but he rolled his eyes at his own naïveté. He wanted to cut back with a clever remark but didn’t have the patience or headspace to do so. 

 

Instead, he puffed hair from his face again and repeated with more urgency, “Come here and help me please; this is too heavy and I am practically sweating into it.”

 

“You know I’ve always liked a little extra salt in my diet, Master. Go ahead, add some Kenobi spice to it - “

 

“We are making sweet buns, my apprentice, not _sweat_ buns, and they very soon may become ‘the dough fell onto the floor while I was trying to kneed it’ buns if you do not come here assist me. _Please_.”

 

Anakin made an about turn on his stool, previously perched above a section of the counter chopping up various fresh berries and fruits, _most_ of which made it into his mouth and not the bowl. Obi-Wan had ensured to purchased an extra amount of fruit for this exact purpose. Anakin was just as curious as he was hungry, and the two together were a ravenous beast; it would have been torture to try and stop the boy from eating them, try as he may have. 

 

The little fingers were covered in reds and purples, wielding a knife in his right hand rather threateningly as he approached Obi-Wan. The Master raised his eyebrows at the sight, though Anakin was not phased. 

 

“How can I help?”

 

“Let’s start by gently placing that knife down - pointed away from you and I - on the counter.”

 

Anakin reached out to comply, but Obi-Wan tutted and corrected, “Ah ah, over  _there_.”

 

His head gestured to the counter on the opposite side of the room. Anakin huffed, “I have a feeling you don’t trust me any more with sharp objects now than you did four months ago.”

 

“Please do not try to justify jumping up and down on your bed with a butter knife as being a pastime, not again.” 

 

“I did it on Tatooine for fun all the time! It’s called ‘living on the edge’ - “

 

“It is called ‘living with a reckless death wish’.”

 

“Nuh uh! I’m sure you did dangerous stuff as a kid too, Master. You can’t have been responsible  _all_ your life.” 

 

“I suppose not, but I can assure you I was not half as reckless as you.” 

 

Anakin’s smile, ever present as it had been all evening, became a little more sly, turning up at one corner like Qui-Gon’s had all too many times. Obi-Wan had been teasing with the remark, but had a feeling it was not all without seriousness. 

 

The dynamic between them as Master and Padawan was flourishing and growing, even just after six months, to a place where intuition spoke louder than words, where looks and sidelong glances communicated deeper than any remark. It was a place of ease, free to be honest and open, as well as exploration, knowing one another deeper and deeper each day. 

 

This stage of bonding, coined by master Depa Billiba, was often referred to as the “Batha cub” stage, and was unique especially for new Masters. Unlike his bond between Qui-Gon Jinn, as the Master and not the apprentice, this bond was different for Obi-Wan. He felt the same sorts of warmth and closeness and care that a bond showed, but in a way that was fierce instead of gentle. Instead of the constant sense of confiding he felt in his late Master’s presence, a trust and a sort of safety, he felt he could and would do anything to ensure this for Anakin. Like a mother Bantha for her young, he was fiercely devoted to Anakin. 

 

Apparently, these sorts of intense connective feelings would soon fade and quell to their gentler forms. Soon they would both be calm and situated in their bond. But now, these new sensations were a wonderful thing, and they relished in them. It was why the Council encouraged them to take a few weeks to simply _be_ : to sleep and eat and meditate and learn and talk and exist alongside each other. It was crucial in their bonding process to transition through this stage together. 

 

So they did. They had read three bookchips together so far, built two forts, discussed quantum physics over the span of two days, built a few model ships and even a simple droid out of spare parts in Anakin’s room, and had baked sweet buns two times. Some may say they were having a little too much fun, but both Obi-Wan and Anakin would have it no other way. 

 

And they were both hoping that this batch of sweet buns would finally turn out. Or, at least, not be burnt beyond redemption.

 

“Y’know what I was thinking?”

 

Obi-Wan focused back to the present, watching as Anakin began helping him pry the sticky dough from his hands. “What’s that Padawan?”

 

“Just ‘bout how ... I was talking to Reed the other day, a kid in my sparring troupe, and he was telling me about how since his species in facing endangerment and extinction the Council’s let him keep in contact with his family. One day he’s gonna go there for a couple years, when he’s a Knight, to start a family. Isn’t that strange?”

 

“It certainly is unique, but not entirely unheard of. You are aware of Master Ki-Adi Mundi is facing a similar situation?”

 

“Yeah, he spoke to us about it in one of our Planetary Communities and Culture classes. He has five daughters!” Anakin exclaimed, “So after Reed told me about him and stuff, I was sorta thinking about it for a while, and then I was wondering - move your arm a bit ...”

 

Obi-Wan complied, frankly more intrigued with Anakin’s train of thought than his own predicament then.

_It always seems the boy is able to be the most honest in the oddest of times._ The young Master mused as he watched the one in question intensely focused on prying sticky dough from his wrists. _But at least he is honest._

 

It certainly was a trait commonly struggled with between a Master and a Padawan. Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin would always feel as open as he had been with sharing things between them. 

 

“Go on, young one.” Obi-Wan gently prodded, and Anakin seemed to refocus a bit then on his words. 

 

“Oh yeah, um ... right, it just made me wonder about how all the Jedi here have families. And all their families are living out in the galaxy somewhere, and maybe they think about their son or daughter growing up here at the Temple. And I know that attachments are forbidden, but I think about my mother a lot and if she’s thinking about me. And then maybe we think about each other at the same time, and then what does _that_ mean?” 

 

Obi-Wan could not help but laugh. Anakin did not, however, maintaining an air of solemnity. 

 

“I’m serious! Anyways, just now when you were talking about you as a kid I was thinking about your family.”

 

“My family?”

 

“Yeah! Mom and Dad Kenobi, back home on ...”

 

“Stewjon.”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Anakin’s sombreness took hold of Obi-Wan then, a soft nostalgia finding him as if it were a warm duvet being draped over his shoulders. It was comforting and made him feel safe, but it was also heavy.

 

As an Initiate, thoughts of his family and his home planet were frequent, as was commonplace amongst the younglings. Although none of them had ever experienced the love of a mother, the safety of a family circle, they had been told enough stories to imagine how it would be. Sometimes, quietly to avoid the watchful eyes and ears of Crèche Masters, they would even play pretend families, assigning roles of mothers and uncles and grandparents to each participant; this was always quickly stopped by the attending Masters, however. 

 

Obi-Wan’s curious boyhood mind had often conjured up many daydreams, assisted by what he knew of the planet Stewjon and the strands of memories he still had of it. Images of his mother, with dark hair and gentle eyes, of the fields of whisper grasses and the warm sun. Sometimes he would even dream of this place, always waking with a familiar stale feeling in his stomach. 

 

Now in his Knighthood, these kinds of thoughts were few and far between. Fully competent in his understanding of the Order’s regulations against attachments and having lived through enough experiences around and through them, Obi-Wan knew the rule was designed to help him best fulfill his role as a Jedi. The fanciful thoughts of family were only that of a soft afterglow. 

 

But as he met eyes with his apprentice, a boy that knew what the love of a mother had the comfort of family meant far better than he could ever understand, Obi-Wan was reminded of that stale feeling again. It wasn’t a jealous feeling, or one of regret, but of wonder. _What would it have been like to have a bond as close as blood?_  

 

As soon as the thought filled his mind, Obi-Wan sensed the Force nudge him, and it felt like Qui-Gon’s thumb in his ribs again. A new thought immediately overtook his previous one: _what bond can be closer than that of those bound by the Force?_  

 

Obi-Wan’s heart swelled a bit, feeling that fierce protectiveness and devotion again, and smiled. How ever thankful he was for his Matser’s gentle voice in his mind. 

 

All of this silent consideration happened right beneath Anakin’s nose, for it was his joyful shout that once again brought Obi-Wan back from his musings. 

 

“There! That stuff is stickier than Gabdorian goo!”

 

Hands now freed - still covered in dough, but freed - from the ever rising mass, Obi-Wan nodded in relief. 

 

“Right, very well Padawan! Let’s gather the flour and we can begin cutting shapes.”

 

“Can we make them star shaped this time? I saw a photo in a cooking book in the Archives, they look wizard!” 

 

“As long as you promise me something.”

 

Anakin faced him eagerly, “Anything Master!”

 

“Never forget that though the bonds of blood are strong, those we form between our kin in the Force can be even stronger.”

 

The blue eyes widened, pondering the phrase, and the blonde head nodded vigorously. Through their own bond, he sensed the depth of his understanding, and it comforted him even more than he remembered the thoughts and images and dreams of his home planet had. The warmth was safe, and it was light as air. 

 

Obi-Wan rubbed a smudge of flour onto the boy’s nose. Anakin grinned. 

 

 

No sooner, however, was the moment gone and their quarters suddenly flooded with smoke, the detector alarm blaring away, causing them both to rise in frantic search to solve the issue. 

 

“Kriff, I must have left something in the oven while it was preheating!” 

 

“Language, Padawan!”

 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you say it earlier -“

 

“How many times have I reminded you to always check  _first_  -“

 

“I would have been able to check the temperature and realize my mistake if  _someone_  hadn’t been elbow deep into the dough!”

 

“That’s because  _someone_  forgot to add a cup of flour -“

 

“‘Cause  _somebody_  added the wet ingredients to the dry ones before I was  _done_!” 

 

As Obi-Wan removed the burning pan from the inside, tossing it quickly into the sink with a clang and running cool water over it, and Anakin ran about the room opening windows and flailing a kitchen cloth to clear the smokey air, a familiar knock was heard at their door. 

 

They both stopped. 

 

“What’s our excuse this time?” Anakin asked, already prepared with an innocent glint to his eye. 

 

Obi-Wan smoothed his hair, “Just ... smile. I’ll think of something.”

 

“You always do, don't you Master?” 

 

“Yes, young one. Watch and learn.” 


	14. A Fairly Successful Lunch Outing

The frigate swerved a sharp right, the shrill of the engine buffeting releasing squeals that cut like a knife in the musty afternoon air. Surrounding traffic blared on angrily, but it seemed irrelevant as the ship raced erratically through them anyways, those not in compliance being clipped as a result.

Anakin peeked his head up the best he could, trying to see out through the windshield, but they turned again and he was slammed back into the sides of the empty cargo hold. His legs were scraped deep against the raw durasteel of the floor and he tried to call on the Force but couldn't fast enough to stop his head from hitting the side. His vision blurred and hazed, but stubbornly he fought it away; not even the painful bruise that trailed blood down his forehead could distracted his from his real concern: Obi-Wan.

Quickly, Anakin regained composure and crawled back to the body lying limp and tumbled along side him in the hold of the getaway vehicle. Though his bulk was heavy, he pulled his Master's arms until he rolled back onto his back, taking his stubbled face in his hands again as he had before.

“Master? Obi-Wan?!" Anakin said desperately, aching for his eyes to open and meet his, but only saw the flutter of dreaming beneath the eyelids. _At least he's not dead. Not yet, anyways._

Anakin gently laid Obi-Wan's head to rest on the floor, eyes moving to the bloodied stain forming rapidly on his lower left side. Even through the dark fabric uniform that he wore, he could see the wound - whether it was from a blaster bullet or some other weapon - was deep and, if left too long, could be fatal. 

"I have to stop the bleeding!" Anakin lectured himself, brain racing through what he had learned in his Preliminary Medical Techniques class. "With pressure, a bandage, something to stop blood flow - "

Again, the ship jerked a corner and Anakin shouted as he rolled and slammed into the side as before. This time, though, he felt the frightened and frustrated tears spring in his eyes. He had forced himself to be brave so far. He had no choice.

Their captors had come in broad daylight. Him and Obi-Wan had been assigned as Official Republic Escorts to oversee the transport of the Prime Leader of a small moon called Odnar 17 in the Inner Rim Systems. The moon, one of twenty that orbited its mother planet, had recently been targeted by gang violence, the small system wrought up in the middle of a drug war. Their role was only a precaution, Obi-Wan had insisted, warding off any danger by simply existing in the Prime Leader’s presence.

They had been tasked as the Prime Leader’s entourage during an outing that afternoon. The location was popular, bustling, out in the open on a sleek city block. It had been three hours into the luncheon - with no lunch for them and only blazing hot sun and a lot of smog-filled air - that Anakin had expressed his distaste in acting as a bodyguard. His Master had been quick but gentle to chide him in warning.

“Be mindful, young one.”

It was cryptic, which was not unlike Obi-Wan at all, but Anakin had nodded. Though the phrase had grown as commonplace as _“Anakin, get back here!”_ , this time it seemed weightier, like a itch he couldn’t scratch. Obi-Wan had always been able to sense if something did not feel right about a place, or if they may have been at risk. He trusted him. Good thing, too, because he had been right.

Their captors - whoever they were - were not just a few run-of-the-mill, in-for-a-quick-cred type of kidnappers. They had come silently and prepared. It was the kind of thing Anakin imagined being in a cheap horror-thriller, one you could see a click away but still be fooled by. 

 

Anakin had been struck first, _hard_ , on the back of the head, so hard his ears rung and he dropped to the duracrete without a sound. Through the haze of his pain, he fought against strong hands that felt like a mans; shouting ensued, passerbys he had guessed, and he had only seen the back of his Master’s form throw a desperate blow to an attacker before he was knocked out.

 

The Padawan had been awake for a few minutes, and was still just as scared and unsure as he had been lying on the ground then, however long ago that was. Anakin didn't know their enemies motives or their plan. He did not know what move to make next, what Jedi trick he could use to get them out of this. He only knew that him and Obi-Wan had to escape before something even worse happened. 

Anakin felt dizzier then as he made it back to Obi-Wan, wiping the tears from his blurry gaze. There was a sheen of sweat on his Master's face, and he tossed his head from one side to the other as if trapped in a nightmare. It was a fever that caused such, he knew, which didn’t make him feel any better. 

Anakin placed a hand on the young man’s chest gently, accepting that he was very frightened, in many ways and for many reasons, but he swallowed it. Instead, he quietly opened himself to the Force, opened himself to be brave. That's what he knew Obi-Wan would have done for him.

Eyes closing, Anakin reached towards their bond, imaging what Obi-Wan would say if he were awake.  _No more crying. No time for that. Think, young one. You have a brain and a mind full of ideas - do not put that to waste._

Quickly, his head clearing at the thought, Anakin put away his fears and slipped out of his dark blue overcoat, the traditional garb of Odnar 17, attempting to tear it. He knew after his first few tugs at the weak spots beneath the arms that the fabric was too thick, and instead the boy pulled his undershirt over his head and repeated the same, able to rip it easily.

Anakin grabbed the hem of Obi-Wan’s own bloodied shirt and rolled it up to his ribcage, able to better see the intensity of the wound. He wasn't a med droid but he knew enough to know it must have kriffing hurt, and he wasted no time in carefully covering it with a few smaller pieces of his white shirt before wrapping them in place with the long lopsided strips he made from the excess.

It was when he was tightly tying the last knot of the wrap that Obi-Wan suddenly regained consciousness with a gasp. He jerked upright, eyes bright in confusion and pain.

“Take it easy, Master, it’s just me.” Anakin cautioned, pushing him back down, “Boy, am I glad you decided to join me!”

“Padawan," His voice came out in a desperate question, that whisper he knew well, though then it was only a coarse breath, "Are you alright?"

"I’m fine, Master. "

"Where are we?" Obi-Wan turned a bit, glancing around the dim darkness of the cargo hold.

"I - I dunno, I couldn't see anything, and we kept turning - "

"Shh." Obi-Wan gestured him to silence, and through the rattles of the beat up cruiser and the jolting thumps of their own bodies he strained to hear.

Anakin picked up that by the lessening of street sounds - engines roaring, traffic bustling - they had been driven either into the rural areas of Odnar 17 or back into space, which were both bad things.

“We are on the borders of the main city." Obi-Wan confirmed Anakin’s suspicion with a nod. He pointed toward a crack in the metal siding of the car, to the bright flickers of orange. “That light is the mother planet; west is there. Our trajectory must be southbound."

"Who are these people? The druglords?" Anakin asked hopefully. He saw by Obi-Wan's hesitation, though, that it wouldn't be that easy.

"I was not able to catch sight of them . . . when they attacked us. My suspicion is that this attack is of anti-Republic sentiment," Obi-Wan decided, his voice holding little hesitation to his statement. “They did not like the Jedi poking around too close to their cartels; better for them to take care of ‘loose ends’ than risking us tattling of their deeds to the Senate."

"Loose ends?" Anakin repeated, though he knew what it meant, "What are they gonna to do with us?"

“We are in the cargo hold of a frigate, Padawan. One may surmise they believe we belong where bad cargo belongs," Obi-Wan replied dryly, “Unfortunately for them, they left us a lot of leeway."

Obi-Wan tilted his head a bit, motioning Anakin toward his right breast pocket, and he put his hand in and grabbed what was inside: a round metal button.

“A location beeper? Is this from the Prime Leader?"

“His staff were particularly cautious, and when they offered me to wear it for the day, after the twelfth request I had no choice but oblige.”

“So, are we okay?"

"No doubt they were alerted as soon as trouble commenced - the Prime Leader is most likely safe in their care. Since we have not reported leaving the city borders, it should send out a distress signal.” 

“So, we _are_ okay?"

"Yes, young one. We are going to be okay."

Despite the still eminent danger around them, through their bond Obi-Wan somehow found a soothing wave to send to him, even as a hostages in a getaway cruiser. Anakin wanted to cry and laugh in relief all at once, and when Obi-Wan motioned him closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, he felt calm. Uncannily calm. The gesture was the kind that explained everything while saying nothing at all. 

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked a little more genuinely then, pushing himself upright a bit more and reaching out to brush away dirty blonde hair and touch the reddened graze on his forehead, “Were you struck? What did they do to you?"

“Nothing Master, I'm fine, _you’re_ the one who's hurt."

“It is just a graze." Obi-Wan lied through his teeth, seeming only slightly bothered by the wound in his gut, a hand gently touching the darkened makeshift bandage. "Did you do this?"

Anakin nodded, "I had to stop the bleeding. I remembered in my primary med techniques class that to stave off bleeding you need pressure, and my jacket was too thick but my shirt worked perfectly! Granted maybe I should have _sanitized_ the wound first, and if I had my belt I could have even cauterized it with my multitool - "

“Good work, young one. Thank you.”

The look that came over Obi-Wan was a kind of proud pleasure Anakin hadn’t seen yet, the bluish eyes turning up in almost a smile; it could have also come from the fact that since he had used his shirt for the bandage, he was sitting there in nothing but his trousers, face dirtier than a vagrant and blue eyes big and wild from his post-adrenaline rush. 

Anakin tiredly hunkered down on the cold  durasteel floor and quipped: “I would have to say, overall, this has been a fairly successful lunch outing.”

“Oh really?” His Master’s reply was dubious. 

“Yeah - it’s not everyday you get attacked _and_ taken hostage in the same afternoon. That’s gotta be some sort of record. Ferus is gonna flip out when he hears this!”

The hand on his head ruffled his hair, and Anakin smiled for the first time that day. It felt very good to smile, then, better than usual. He wanted to thank his Master, for his insight and protection. Thank him for his calm presence and his trust. Thank him for not kriffing dying on him. 

He did not, however. Somehow, Anakin felt that without saying anything, Obi-Wan already knew


	15. Good Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Happy May the Fourth Be With You! Here’s a super sweet chapter that I hope you enjoy ♡

Though he may not consider it personally, Obi-Wan Kenobi was regarded as an extremely level-headed person. It was not a trait he had ever had to develop, but found it came naturally. Faced with adversity, the primal reaction was often panic, a sort of fight or flight defence to protect oneself. This sensation was often unnerving, enough so it had the ability to banish rational thought and even paralyze.

 

Obi-Wan had never been too troubled by the adrenaline rush that accompanied danger. Qui-Gon Jinn had reminded him frequently that the body’s desire to remain living was not nearly as strong as the Force’s desire to guide one to survival. Chemical reactions on the bodily level, from adrenaline to hormones, were just as able to stir up worry as the Force was to still it.

 

Thus, his comrades readily relied on his quick thinking and calm to get them out of tight spots. His Padawan Anakin Skywalker was no different, able to find a calm similar to his teacher’s in knowing Obi-Wan would always have a plan. And he always had.

 

This had saved their skins at least three times and counting on their most recent mission. A small civil war had called them to Thor-Chio Dawn within the Outer Rim, not to fight but to safely escort to Coruscant the thousands of women and children refugees that had been endangered as a result.

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had been a perfect choice for the job. The Master was no stranger to assisting refugees of war, having completed seventeen missions with a similar objective, and knew well the kinds of obstacles from political to relational that they would encounter. The Padawan, thanks to his time as a slave on Tatooine, was fluent in the refugees native tongue and served as a interpreter as well as a comfort to the citizens.

 

Even better, Obi-Wan’s enviable coolness kept all those in his presence at an even keel in the many risky situations they faced. Anakin would smile each time his Master switched into this calm persona, his voice and stance and even his eyes able to comfort and captivate. Obi-Wan always had a plan. Always.

 

Or so Anakin had thought.

 

To his shock and confusion, the one time he saw the steely exterior of Obi-Wan Kenobi crack was the time he least expected it. It was not in the face of danger or death, of flood or fire or force, no natural or humanoid-made disaster. No, not from a threat or a curse, not a failure of his own or another.

 

It was something the Padawan could not explain. Even so, in Obi-Wan’s vulnerability, it was his turn to play the part. Anakin may not have always had a plan, but he did have the ability to make it _seem_ like he had one.

 

For Obi-Wan’s sake, he made sure of this even more so.

 

* * *

 

“Force ... what are we to do with it?”

 

“Calm down, Master! It’s not like it’s a grenade!”

 

“Nevertheless it should be handled with care - maybe it would be best if you set it down for now -“

 

“We can’t just leave it here - not like we have far to go right now. You told me that until the reconnaissance cruiser comes back around, we have to stay on site.”

 

“I am not suggesting we leave it behind; on the contrary, it should be brought along and returned to its rightful place - “

 

“Can’t you see that’s what _I’m_ suggesting?!”

 

“ - safely in one piece!”

 

“Obi-Wan, I dunno what you’ve been taught about them, but babies can’t _break_!”

 

Anakin knew he had used an improper address to his Master, but Obi-Wan did not chide him, for it felt appropriate. The look in his eyes was a kind of anxiety that was foreign, and slightly unsettling. However, the utter silliness of his worry was enough for Anakin to laugh at (though this he hid kindly) and he was not as unsettled as he could be.

 

The object of Obi-Wan’s attention and aversion was an refugee infant, which Anakin cradled close to his chest. Sure, he was not a baby expert in any regard, but upon entering the refuge tent and seeing the little thing cuddled in the far corner under some hastily but strategically placed debris he had no choice but to help it. Clearly, his Master thought otherwise.

 

Their mission had almost been over - which Obi-Wan had cautioned was nearly always a jinx in the making - and they had been sent in one of the last raided villages to quickly scan the refugee tents for any last survivors. It had been nearly three days of relentless barrages by the military on the small hamlets in the rural areas of Thor-Chio Dawn, only populated by the women, children, and elderly thanks to their recruitment of men into their twisted war. Homes and farms were deserted for the safety of underground bunkers in threat of bombings, and it was a wise caution; most towns had been reduced to a little more than rubble and once-been buildings.

 

It made Anakin very angry and sad all at once upon seeing the destruction. Not only were the innocent lives taken from their land and homes, but they were now forced to begin again and fend for themselves after being stripped of their belongings and safety. Any people who had to live under the tyranny of a cruel leader had Anakin’s spontaneous sympathy. After seeing seven villages in similar state, he had nearly been ready to storm the government buildings and demand an explanation and reasoning behind such destruction. His Master, calm as ever, had easily persuaded him otherwise.

 

“These consequences are attributable to an angry, confused elect. Approaching them with equal anger and confusion will not detract from anything done, but rather spur more anger on.”

 

Anakin knew he was right. That didn’t make him any less angry, but it made him a bit less rash feeling.

 

Maybe that was why, upon entering the half-collapsed hut, he was primed and ready to do whatever he could to prove to someone - maybe himself - that all of this couldn’t have been for nothing. Anakin did not have to think long and hard to get flashbacks of their first Preliminary Mission Task, and the little girl he was unable to save. That memory came fast, and painful. All of the rubble and disarray, all the death and despair. Maybe there was something good to come out of it after all.

 

And it seemed that this little baby and its will to survive represented his chance for exactly that.

 

Anakin hadn’t explained any of this to Obi-Wan, not yet. _How can I when he will barely even look at the baby?_ He thought frustratedly, continuing to bounce it gently in his arms. The little one looked up at him, like it had been doing since he picked it up, eyes big and brown and curious, and it made him smile. _It’s not like it’s unsightly. It’s actually really,_ really _cute. I guess I just have to convince Obi-Wan to see it that way too._

 

Anakin looked back up at his Master, who was still showing that same grimace as before. He rolled his eyes, “You’re acting like its a Huttlet - now _those_ things are worth frowning over! Slimy as gabdorian goo and with a stench not far behind.”

 

“Quite.”

 

“It’s a humanoid baby. I know you’ve _had_ to have come across one at least once in your life.” Anakin challenged, seeing Obi-Wan shift his boots slightly, one hand still resting inquisitively on his chin.

 

“I have come across infants of a variety of species.” Obi-Wan replied matter-of-factly, “I once assisted the birthing of a litter of wyrwulves if you care to consider.”

 

“Wizard!”

 

“Unfortunately, at the time the infants did not seem to enjoy being born at all and were not afraid to show it. They packed quiet a bite."

 

“Humanoid babies don’t bite. At least not at this age.”

 

“Yes, I am aware - it looks to be about four standard months old, if that.”

 

“Why’re you calling it an _it_ anyways?”

 

“The sex isn’t apparently clear to me - “

 

Anakin unravelled the swaddle a bit, using a hand to gently peek under the little things onesie. “It’s … a girl! Congrats Master, you’re the proud new uncle of a baby girl!”

 

Obi-Wan scoffed a laugh. “ _Uncle?_ -“

 

A loud noise indicative of approaching danger resounded, an impact following that shook the weak support of the tiny hut. Anakin’s heart rate spiked; they had not expected any more raids but it had not been out of the question. Obi-Wan let a curse seethe through his teeth as he wordlessly motioned his Padawan to the centre of the room, kneeling near the boy in a protective stance as he had many time before. Anakin took his position, nestled in near his Master’s knee and facing his chest.

 

“That sounded like an incendiary, and we are regrettably more vulnerable than I would like,” Obi-Wan was able to sound reassuring, “I’ll have to contact the base camp to make sure our proximity is not - Padawan! What do you think you are doing?”

 

Anakin had managed, in only a few moments, to both wriggle out from Obi-Wan and carefully place the baby in his arms. He spoke as he crawled away, “The baby’s freezing, I gotta find her another blanket!”

 

“The baby won’t be needing warmth if this hut gets blown to bits, and you with it - "

 

“Keep her warm, this’ll take just a sec!"

 

Though he wasn’t lying, the ulterior motive to his passing off of the child was a proverbial pushing of his Master off the deep end - sometimes it was the only way to get him to swim. By the crinkling of his nose and the tensing of his shoulders, Anakin could tell he didn’t seem too keen on the temperature of the water. _He’ll get used to it. Probably_.

 

Obi-Wan carefully inched the bundle to rest in the crook of his arm, being sure to support the small head in his palm. It made a few soft noises, grunts of discomfort, and he imitated his apprentice in soothing it by patting its back. Like a battle cry, _retreat, retreat, retreat!_ reflected in his tight eyes, and the young man sighed in spite of himself.

 

Anakin glanced up from his search through the rubble, watching his Master reluctantly place a finger on the babies forehead ever so gently, as if the skin were the wings of a blight-moth. The grey blue eyes blinked, thinning in concern.

 

“Infants this young are unable to regulate their body temperature; they lack the ability to shiver.” Obi-Wan spoke to himself, as if it were his thoughts aloud, “Hypothermia is especially dangerous at this young age.”

 

“Exactly.” The boy returned, a rough-spun blanket in his hands, “My mother told me that when I was little. Even though Tatooine is hot as a sun at times, the nights can get below freezing and is equally as dangerous as the heat. She would make blankets like this for any of the homeless mothers in Mos Espa, to make sure their babies made it through the night. I would go out with her when she delivered them.”

 

The Master watched as Anakin lay out the cloth on his knees. He turned the square shape and folded back one corner, motioning Obi-Wan to place the baby down, “One of the mothers, her name was Esie, had twins, and she taught me how to swaddle a baby. Gives less wiggle room so it’ll keep her really warm.”

 

Fold after fold, Anakin meticulously but quickly nestled the squirming thing into a tightly packed bundle; it was not a lot unlike filling a sweet bun with fresh fruit and thumbing the seal closed. The whole process took less than a minute, and in that time the baby was able to slip into a sleepy state.

 

In the meantime, Obi-Wan sent out an emergency transmission to their reconnaissance team, calm but insistent and urgent in tone. It took three more distant explosions for Anakin to really become worried; throughout, his Master stayed by him. He soothed him through the Force in their bond, steadily. It made the wait feel shorter, and unbeknownst to him Anakin was relaxed enough to fall asleep, baby in his arms, Obi-Wan beside him.

 

* * *

 

It took two hours for the cruiser to arrive and airlift them back to base camp. Obi-Wan had given a stern word to the pilot for taking his good time; any longer very well could have been an unfortunate fate for all three of them, and certainly the infant. He had personally ensured the baby be seen to immediately upon boarding, informing the medical attendants of her assumed hypothermia.

 

Unsurprisingly it was the first thought in Anakin’s mind as soon as he had stirred out of his exhausted sleep, hair unruly as usual. Obi-Wan, who had been keeping vigil beside his cot in the medical wing, had chuckled at the sight.

 

“What ... where’s the baby?”

 

“Word has just been sent: she is currently stable and under watch.” Obi-Wan gestured begins him, where in a nearby bassinet the child slept. He watched the boy’s body lose tension in relief, “The nurse noted that your intervention undoubtedly increased her chance on life.”

 

Anakin voice was a happy sigh, throwing back the sheets that covered him and rising. “I knew learning how to swaddle wasn’t for nothing!”

 

The Master smiled and followed along with him as they both stood above the baby’s bassinet. Anakin reached in and let the little hand wrap around his finger.

 

Obi-Wan was, frankly, astounded at the boy. Although he knew better than anyone of his Padawan’s affinity with connecting to other life forms, he had never seen it so intimately and selflessly done. Anakin did not seem the least bit harrowed, but carried out his actions as if it were nothing more than a personal duty to complete them. It reminded Obi-Wan far too well of Qui-Gon.

 

“I had no idea you were so adept with infants, young one.” Obi-Wan whispered, courteous to how the little eyes bobbed, fighting sleep, “If so, I would have signed you up as a volunteer Crèche helper months ago.”

 

Anakin shrugged, “Nah, I like babies but ... too many of them in one place is chaos worse than war.”

 

“That, I can agree with.”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Babies.”

 

“ _Hmm_?”

 

“Of all the things I’ve seen you worry over - which is an extremely short, if non-existent, list - I don’t get why it’s babies.” Anakin shifted, ready to listen to the story he hoped Obi-Wan would tell. “Why is it that you get so nervous? And don’t tell me you don’t cause I can sense it, and even without our bond you look scared as a womp rat in water.”

 

“It’s that obvious?”

 

“Yeah, sorry to break it to you.”

 

The baby between them cooed, drawing both eyes and attention down to it for a moment.

 

Obi-Wan did not have an answer. It did occur to him that this ... particular aversion was rather exaggerated. Truth be told, he had not ever pondered upon it long. As his eyes remained glued on the now sleeping infant before him, it did not seem any clearer.

 

“It’s not like you’re scared of something irrational.” Anakin reasoned for his Master out loud, "Babies are fragile. They can’t talk. They always need someone to hold them, and feed them, and keep them warm and safe. And to clean up after them too."

 

Obi-Wan chuckled along with the boy.

 

“I don’t think you’re scared of babies, Master. You might just be afraid of not being … good enough. I don’t think anyone is, ever. Even a mother. Even if she gives her baby everything they need, sometimes they still cry. And they never say thanks. But that doesn’t make her any less of a good mother, does it?”

 

The question needed no answer. The words felt inherently right in a way that filtered through their Force bond and warmed him. In a way that rendered the words to mean something more, that told him that even when his best instruction and guidance and corrections seemed to fall short, it made him no less of a teacher to the boy. Obi-Wan was not sure if it were his own rationale, or that of Anakin, or simply the Force that spoke this to him. He supposed, for this time, it was alright if he did not know.

 

A nudge was felt in his side, and he looked to see Anakin motioning him to pay attention to the little bundle again. The baby eyelids fluttered, barely noticeable, in what was most likely dreams. The corners of its mouth would turn up every so often with what appeared to be a smile.

 

“She’s probably dreaming about something barvy, like the waterfalls in the rainforests of Cato Neimodia!” Anakin whispered.

 

“Or maybe simply of her mother.”

 

The Padawan raised his head at the thought, “What if her mother didn’t make it? What then?”

 

Obi-Wan patted the boys shoulder, “We shall cross that bridge when we come to it. But you have done well, young one. You very well may have saved this little one’s life. That is not something to dismiss. No matter her fate, you must not discount this as a success.”

 

Anakin bit his bottom lip, that look in his blue eyes of deep thought considering the words. It was broken by a grin, “Successful mission, then? Our first one without any real major bumps in the road then, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s about time, as well.”

 

Anakin held out his open palm, and Obi-Wan met it and clasped it tightly; the boy laughed immediately.

 

“Master, what was that?”

 

“What?”

 

“A _handshake_? I set you up for a high-five, and you go in for a _handshake_? Who am I, the Senator of Devaron?!”

 

“There is no discernible difference between a set-up for either gesture - “

 

“Yes there is! And the fact that I’m not a high diplomat for one - “

 

"Hush now, or you’ll wake the little one!”

 

So Anakin did, but not without one last nudge to Obi-Wan’s side.


	16. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you everyone who has read so far! I'm sorry on the late update! I'm thinking that this fic will soon have enough chapters that I may be closed to being finished writing these. I love this story so so much, and it's been over 7 months in the making. There may be three or four more chapters, but we will see what happens. Anyways, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

 

“Anakin! This is the third time I’ve called you - “

 

“I’m coming!” 

 

“That convinces me no more than it had the first two times!”

 

“I said I’m coming, so I’m _coming_ \- unless you want me to come out there wearing one boot and ... no belt.”

 

“This would not have happened again if you hadn’t forgotten to fold your laundry - _again_.”

 

“It’s not that, I just don’t have time cause you made us meditate for twenty minutes instead of ten!”

 

“Made us? You have fallen asleep the past four times we scheduled meditation together - if you don’t fulfill your required hours -“

 

“I will, I will okay?”

 

It was only due to his hand physically being placed over his mouth in despair that prevented Obi-Wan from further griping back to the boy. Granted, in his opinion he had every right to be at the verbal spat with Anakin, matter or not what he knew he should do as the Master and technically the bigger person in the situation. 

 

Obi-Wan carried a rucksack on each shoulder and two carafes of hot tapir tea in each hand. One boot was half out the door wedging it open, while the other tapped the floor impatiently. The chrono on the wall read 11:47. They should have left exactly ... 47 minutes ago. But like every well-scheduled plan he had ever implemented, there was one unpredictable and notorious roadblock that never failed to halt it every single time - 

 

“Anakin!” 

 

“I’m. Coming!” 

 

Knowing, for a fact, that he had not yet and seemingly still was _not_ coming, Obi-Wan, defeated in some part, dropped the items in his arms. This was their fourth argument this week that he could recall. If he took into account the momentary sharp exchanges that came about as well as the testing glares, he would have to use more than his fingers to keep track. 

 

This came as no shock to the young Master. Of all the advice fellow Jedi had given him, many of it centred around holding his own in disagreements and how young ones “have quite the mouth on them these days”. Granted, Obi-Wan hadn’t outright disagreed, noting how many teachers were beginning to better allow their apprentices to have a say in matters rather than simply feeding them discipline and instructing them to understand. 

 

It was the approach Qui-Gon had taken with him from the very start, and one Obi-Wan had implemented with Anakin. And though he had been uncharacteristically stubborn as a young one, unlike him Anakin was not afraid to say exactly what was on his mind. 

So far, they had been able to work through every tense or awkward conversation that they came upon with ease.

 

Anakin’s frankness had its benefits, certainly, but had landed the Master in hot water one too many times. The most recent being on their mission to address the High Court of Pauvre, a system in the Mid Rim, to sit-in on the voting of an act that called for the lawful emancipation of slavery from the system. For good reason, it had appealed to Anakin, and Obi-Wan had been pleased to see his interest. He had noticed that their recent missions had involved many corrupt governments and the citizens who suffered for them, so they were both glad for this.  

 

“Does this mean that other systems are passing acts like this too?” 

 

Anakin had asked with a hopeful tone as they sat in one of the spectator booths in the courtroom. Obi-Wan had, reluctantly, told what was more of a truth. 

 

“Passing an act such as this is not simple; likely, it may not be agreed on today. It takes many years to change a practice embedded into the framework of a society.” 

 

“Even here, in the Mid Rim?” 

 

“Class and civilization, unfortunately, do not diminish the likelihood of injustice.”

 

It had been that comment that helped Obi-Wan realize how intense Anakin’s interest in this cause was rooted. A realization that came just minutes too late. 

 

They had been honoured guests in the meeting, yes, but certainly not honoured enough to speak out themselves amongst the caucus of nearly two-thousand - and out of turn, at that - when the vote had turned out against the favour of the act. Anakin had only managed to get out half a sentence of protest, but it had been enough. Obi-Wan could still recall how quickly he had grabbed the boy by the forearm, grip harsher than intended, and tugged him back to his seat. 

 

The blue eyes had bore into him in a way that made his mouth go dry. They had been filled with rage. Not toward him, per say, but it had been there and it had been _unbridled_. 

 

It took a firm shake from his Master to dispel it away. They spoke no other words through the rest of the session. Even so, Anakin seemed far away. He had not been the Padawan Obi-Wan knew in that fleeting moment, and it had shocked them both. 

 

The Master had to heave a sigh every time he recalled the incident, releasing the myriad of emotions in to the Force anew as to not further bottle them up. Thought they both had apologized to one another, it seemed they had not recovered from it, as was evident by their frequent arguing.

 

As a Padawan, in his own upset with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan was prone to bouts of silence. Anakin was proving to be the opposite, though equally as subversive to explaining what was truly bothering him. It seemed that everything Obi-Wan asked, requested, or instructed was only accomplished with great protest from the boy. 

 

It was, frankly, extremely irritating. They were off on another mission - or should have been fifty minutes ago - and Obi-Wan did not know how if he could sanely put up with it anymore.

 

_If you contain the will to change within you, then do nothing to stop from being without it._

 

The words of his late Master surfaced with little effort, the phrase being one of the ones he knew well. They cautioned Obi-Wan, stilling his foot from its impatient thrumming, relaxing his tensed form. Yes, the thought of relenting to Anakin’s behaviour did not particularly sit well with him, but they would very well be at odds forever if not. 

 

_Qui-Gon must have relented to my own stubbornness many times. I suppose it’s my chance, now._

 

It was another ten minutes of sitting in wait before Anakin finally did come out, less disheveled than he had been when he had last spoke to him, but his expression just as disgruntled. 

 

Obi-Wan said nothing at first. 

 

Anakin folded his arms. “Well?”

 

“Well, what?”

 

“Ten minutes ago you were worried about how late we were, and now you’re relaxing with your morning tea?”

 

Obi-Wan kept his reflexive smile at bay, and replied, “Take a seat, young one.”

 

Anakin hesitated, but joined him at the table. 

 

“... isn’t the Council waiting to see us?” 

 

“Yes, they were.” 

 

“Were or are?” 

 

“The mission ahead of us is of less importance to the Council, and to I, than this. It can wait a few more moments.” 

 

“You’re being cryptic again, Master. It’s like a fill-in-the-blank quiz except I have no idea what the test subject is.” Anakin confessed, the words meant to sound sorry but lacking in delivery. “What’s ‘this’?”

 

“That is what I intend to find out.” 

 

“Oh, I get it! Now it’s clear as mud - “

 

“Anakin. I’m sure that’s quite enough.”

 

The tone was firm and even. Anakin pursed his lips, at a loss for a response for the first time in days. 

 

“We will not be leaving anywhere until you and I can find common ground.” Through their bond, Obi-Wan felt annoyance from the boy, but he tampered it, “I am sure I am not the only one tired of carrying on like quibbling younglings.”

 

Anakin nodded. 

 

“I will give you a chance, now, to express yourself. No censoring on my part.” 

 

“I can say anything I want?” 

 

“Within reason and truth. And when it is my turn to speak, you must allow me to do so.”

 

It was not an outrageous request, but knowing Anakin he very well could have opened a can of ____ worms better kept closed. At this point, he figured it was necessary, worms or not. 

 

Anakin seemed to ponder a moment, tongue and lips twisting occasionally, before he began. 

 

“I don’t like being treated like a little kid. And I know you don’t do it on purpose, but it makes me feel like I’m being babied. Sometimes, when you ask me something twice it makes me want to do it less. Not because you’re nagging, just that I heard you and I’m old enough to remember it. And I don’t mean to be too loud, or too rough, or too _whatever_ , and when you tell me to stop sometimes I don’t realize what I’m doing is wrong.” 

 

Obi-Wan gave a nod after every admission, encouraging the honesty. Inside, though each comment pricked, he was thankful. 

 

“I guess I just ... don’t want to be something you always have to worry about. All the time. My mother did that for me, and I know it was because she loved me, but I don’t want to be a bother.” 

 

Anakin swallowed. The hesitation seemed to indicate he was finished, but Obi-Wan sensed there was something there, balancing on the end of his tongue. A gentle caress through their bond, of something like an apology, was enough to summon it out of him. 

 

It was a whisper, frayed at the edges but still soft. “And ... I always, _always_ felt like that, back on Tatooine. Like a bother. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was just what Watto thought I was worth. And on Pauvre, I ... got _angry_. ‘Cause I know what every single citizen enslaved there feels and I wouldn’t let anyone live like that a minute longer than they had to. And I wanted to make them understand, but when you stopped me, I realized. I couldn’t. 

 

“I knew people felt sorry for them, just like I knew that you felt sorry for me, as a slave. And I feel sorry for you, and for other Jedi, for not knowing the things I know, living outside the Order. But no mater what, we can’t understand. Not really.” 

 

“But I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get so mad about it, but I did, and it scared me. And I could _feel_ that it scared you too, but you weren’t angry, and you helped me calm down. I know you’ve forgiven me, but ... I won’t let it happen again.” 

 

This time, the silence seemed final. Anakin settled his gaze downward, not hinting of upset, simply reflective. Obi-Wan exhaled, the same kind of sigh he had been doing before, but felt the real release in this one. The Force settled on him, soothed him, supported him. 

 

Anakin looked to him expectantly, eager to listen then for the first time in days. For a split-second, he considered an “I-told-you-so” level comment in response to the palpable ease of tension between them at Anakin’s confessions. A myriad of further understanding of the boy had unfolded at the words, while at the same time it seemed he knew far less than he thought. At that moment, however, Obi-Wan knew there was little more for him to say. 

 

He reached across the table and patted Anakin’s forearm. “Thank you for your honesty, young one. It is worth far more to me than you know.”

 

“… so I’m not in trouble?”

 

“What we are discussing has little to do with crime and punishment. I think we both have learned quite enough from this lesson.” Obi-Wan consoled the passing worry on the boy’s face, “And you have shown me that well.” 

 

The smile on Anakin’s face was long overdue, and was met by the Master reflectively. Soon, they were gathering their things again and departing from their quarters toward the High Council Room side by side, light banter on their tongues and the same smiles in their eyes. 

 

As harrowing as the entire ordeal on Pauvre had been, it reassured Obi-Wan that his apprentice indeed was like many others before him, and even like he had been: filled with passion. It had taught them both the lesson of openness and honesty, and guided them to understanding more about one another. 

 

_It surely is the will of the Force,_ he considered, _that it bring us apart only to push us closer together._

 

Obi-Wan allowed his gaze to rest on Anakin, savouring the safety he felt with him there at his side. The blue eyes before him now had not a hint of that rage in them left, that rage he had not admitted frightened him far more than anything. He almost felt dishonest keeping it away, but he felt he did not need to. 

 

 For Obi-Wan believed that as long as he could help it, he would make sure never it return again. 


	17. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to post! I recently started working full-time and my summer job has me whipped! I love writing this so much though, so expect another chapter soon that's a little more light hearted and short :) 
> 
> Meanwhile, this chapter is a bit longer than usual? (maybe not haha maybe I just feel like it is) but it was lots of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy! Like always, let me know what you think!

_No, no, no!_

 

The thoughts were biting and clawing into his skull. The sensation was raw, though his body felt numb, standing there, helpless. But how could he even think so, seeing the body of the man he cared for, would _kill_ for, bleeding before him? 

 

_Why wasn’t I there? Why wasn’t I fast enough?_

 

Obi-Wan stared through the red-tinge of the forcefield, a simple impenetrable wall keeping him from the red-eyed rival beyond it. He wanted to slash at it with his drawn blade, but knew the instability of the core they had been fighting in from the start; one wrong nudge could set off a security feature, such as blast doors, which would separate him further. As much as he felt the fear of his adversary, his rage matched it inexplicably. He paced, eyes taunting and merciless and _hungry_. The taste preceding vomit sat on his tongue, and he wanted to spit it out. 

 

_I can’t do this on my own - I can’t fight this thing!_

 

All his years of training did not prepare him for this. Obi-Wan stared the Zabrak in the face and felt a surrealness. Sith Lords were a myth, legends of old, characters younglings played amongst themselves. The mysteriousness of their power had been laid bare before him, and it was nothing like reading words on a datapad. Adjectives fell short next to the raw sensations the Force rippled with: a deep, unbridled rage, an inexplicable abandon, a matte black darkness. 

 

There was nothing Obi-Wan felt he could summon from his knowledge to assist him there and then. And in the end, that seemed exactly what it would be: light versus dark, in an intensely simple and immensely complex war. 

 

A war the Padawan felt could not be won - 

 

A sharp crackle seemed to run all over his skin as the forcefield before him flickered and faded away. Obi-Wan felt his feet moving even before it had fully disappeared, forward on. However, the distance between him and the monster ahead seemed never ending, ever expanding, and the boy pumped his legs harder, faster, grip on his lightsaber tightening.

 

_I cannot give in! I cannot leave my Master to die!_

 

Like the stillness that occurred between breaths, a deafening silence rang a sharp tone in his ears, and the tunnel leading forward was suddenly endless. But still ahead, Obi-Wan could see the Sith, taunting him with that glare, those eyes. And still, he saw himself, and saw himself watching as his Master was pierced by the wretched red blade again. And again. And _again_. 

 

_No, no no!_

 

Each time, there was a scream, coarse with fatigue and pain but ever fervent with anguish and rage. Obi-Wan heard it echo back, again and again and _again_ , but did not know how to stop it. So, he joined with it, begging for it to end. 

 

_Please, no more … please -_

 

* * *

A gasp, sharp and painful, shot him back to his body. 

 

“Obi-Wan! Master!”

 

It was the voice that pulled him here, to this place, beneath a soft sheet and in a cool room. A breeze hovered over the sweat on his skin, and he shivered, sensing the origin of the noise was aside him, close and purposefully softened. Overwhelming sensations of the shock of reality were tampered by the tone of the voice, and he clung to it like a moth to a flame. 

 

“It’s alright, it’s okay … it’s okay, now.”

 

Something cool was on his forehead, and his eyes opened, welcomed by the dimness. Still vaguely semi-conscious, he winced a bit at the pounding in his ears. Something in his head hurt. A lot. That voice, however, was able to subdue it, just a little. 

 

Obi-Wan called himself to focus, truly, and squinted a bit to see clearer the form sitting above his prostrate figure. A hand outstretched dabbed a cool cloth to his face, and blue eyes were steady as he tried to meet them. The familiarity relaxed his thrumming heart. 

 

“Anakin - ”

 

“Shh, try not to talk, okay? It’s better if you listen.”

 

If Obi-Wan had the wit about him to remark, he would have noted how tired he was becoming of waking up without knowing he had gone to sleep. As per usual in this situation, the haze about him clearing, he had no idea where he was. It was not the Jedi Temple. His surroundings were dark, but it appeared to be some sort of small pod shaped room. One window let faint light in. The cot he lay on was the only furniture besides a table flush against the far wall.

 

Anakin sat to the right of him at his hip, cross-legged with what appeared to be various medical items about: a few vials of bacta, a basin of water, a sick bucket. To his left was the form of another being, a woman, whom was too far for his drowsy vision to identify yet. 

 

“It’s a med pod.” Anakin noted how his eyes had wandered about. “Master Luminara arranged it."

 

The Mirialan woman bowed her head slightly. The name helped identify the face, and it was certainly a face Obi-Wan was glad to see. 

 

"Master Kenobi; it is likely you have very little recollection of finding yourself here now.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling how weak his muscles were at the gesture, and regretting it a bit. Likewise, Anakin placed the cloth on his forehead again as if to caution him from any further movements. 

 

“What do you remember?” The boy asked, “What’s the last thing you can think of?”

 

It was a moment, his eyes closed tightly in search, but he came up empty. As if a void existed in the place any time before he had awoken, and the only tangible thought was here and now. 

 

_I’m having trouble recalling anything._ Obi-Wan projected through their bond to his apprentice, _I must have suffered a concussion. Once again._  

 

Anakin laughed a laugh that manifested in his eyes mostly, a tenderness there, “Not this time, Master. Luckily for you it was just a fever."

 

“Please, do not worry, Master Kenobi.” Master Luminara added, moving away a bit to the table against the wall. She looked as if she was preparing something. “I, as well as Master Halsey and his apprentice, accompanied you and your Padawan to rendezvous with the Sovereign Head of Quorinth on her home planet. There was an outbreak of Cardooine chills on the shuttle direct, and we were forced to land on a moon nearby to quarantine the virus. You, as well as various other passengers, were infected.”

 

Obi-Wan processed the words slowly, looking to his apprentice at the cadence of the last sentence with a question in his eyes. 

 

“I’m fine,” The response, though a typical one from the boy, was spoken genuinely. "I caught the chills when I was just a baby so I’m immune now!”

 

“Your Padawan has been with you for over twenty-seven hours ensuring your care.” Luminara noted, drawing nearer again with a clay mortar nested in her hands. “Despite my persuasions.”

 

The bowl was passed on to the boy with a look that hinted both of frustration and admiration. Anakin hardly noticed, attention fixed on leading the medicine to his Master’s lips. Inside was a liquid of a pale purple colour, reflecting a luminescent sheen; Obi-Wan surmised it was darot root, a natural painkiller, and most likely dew flower to cut the bitterness. He swallowed some. 

 

“This should help lots. Master Unduli said it’s much more effective than stim-shots or bacta.” Anakin said, “I tried a bit; it warms you up inside like a shot of tihaar.”

 

Obi-Wan caught his gaze from above the lip of the bowl. 

 

“Or at least that’s what Master Unduli told me.”

 

Luminara smirked, and though Obi-Wan was slightly stunned by this information, he had to commend her handiwork. The potency of the mixture was notable, for its effects were almost immediate, soothing the ache in him to only dullness, warming him enough to calm his shivers and cool his head. Like his Padawan had said, it tingled and buzzed like alcohol. 

 

Simultaneously, his thoughts smoothed out from their jumbled disarray, kicking off the physical distractions that weighed them down. For the first time, Obi-Wan was able to reach them ... but when he did, he recoiled. 

 

Echoes of screams of pain and rage, his heart thrumming with fear and fatigue, the face of the Zabrak monster who caused it all, the image of his Master’s face crumpling in agony and collapsing in defeat again, and again, and - 

* * *

 

 

“Again? It’s happening _again_?” 

 

“It is simply the side effects of the tonic, young one.” 

 

“But he’s usually asleep by the time - “

 

“The dosage is stronger. His fever has not broken. It is the best choice we have, now.” 

 

Anakin bit his lip, cutting off the words he was tempted to say. Questions like ’ _why is this happening_?' and ‘ _how is this what’s best_?' and, most painfully, ‘h _e’s going to survive, right?_ ’ ached to be exclaimed, as if the asking could soothe the burden. Again, they came back just as these fits did overcome his Master, and again the boy reached out and grabbed the man’s clammy hand in his tightly. 

 

So quickly had their mission turned on them, from a simple escort service to outbreak prevention, that Anakin had barely had time to register the change. One moment, he had been playing Savareen Whist with Obi-Wan in in their small passenger hold on the shuttle to Quorinth, and the next they were kneeling at the aide of a cargo of passengers with similar symptoms of illness. 

 

From the very start while debriefing them, Master Halsey had warned them all to take precautions against the Chills, familiar firsthand with its affects due to his previous encounter on Malastare a few years ago. By that point in their journey, five hours in, it very well had incubated amongst them; it was fast, and merciless, in its vendetta.

 

Anakin also knew of its danger, recalling a little of when he and his mother had picked it up on a cargo freighter when he was just a toddler. It had hurt, he remembered, all over his body, and gave him awful nightmares. His mother had held him close to quell his shivering fevers, and he had clung back to her, until it had passed. It certainly was not a pleasant memory, and not something he would wish to befall even on those he hated. Thus, Anakin had been readily able to see the signs of the sickness in others and acted quickly to quarantine it away. 

 

It had been a suspicion, ever since his Master had first identified signs of the illness in the first few passengers, that he was already infected. Anakin had noticed the glaze of fatigue in Obi-Wan's usually keen eyes, how they would close for a moment too long as if forcing something away. It was in a subtle lapse of judgement that Anakin had discovered it, for certain, as he had assisted his Master in helping an elderly passenger into the makeshift quarantine zone: the cruiser’s cargo bay. 

 

“This isn’t the ideal place to try to stop sickness, is it?” Anakin had commented lightly, knowing the fact simply by the stench of fuel and smog. “We’re almost better off housing them in the cockpit at this point.”

 

Obi-Wan had smiled a little, sealing the bay closed again as he replied. “It may not be ideal, but until we are advised otherwise it will make do.”

 

“I saw someone who was having fits, Master.” The Padawan had confided, quietly, “I dunno if that's a common symptom or not. It looked … wrong, though, like the person was in pain.”

 

“That does not sound right. I will have to discuss this with my Master; he will be sure to know if it is of high concern.”

 

Anakin heard the words from Obi-Wan, but saw no inkling to correct them. When he turned to leave, the boy had caught his sleeve with a quizzical glance, “Wait, wait ... Master who?”

 

“Master Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan had not missed a beat. “He is familiar with ailments of many kinds - “

 

“Master … Obi-Wan, you aren’t feeling well, you’re confused - "

 

“No, I’m sure … I’m sure that … is my Master not here?"

 

Anakin had shook his head only, waiting out the moment by locking onto the blue-grey eyes. Rightly so, the young man had blinked, looking away somewhere beyond them, and back again. He blinked harder once more, and refocused with an apology. 

 

“But Master Qui-Gon … I’m sorry, I am not … I must lie down - “

 

Obi-Wan had retched all over the floor, and Anakin had scrambled to help support him. 

 

That had been his last few moments of coherency until moments prior. But even now, in the safety of a proper medical pod, with Master Luminara at his aid, his apprentice constant at his side, Obi-Wan had not been able to fight off the affliction. He was plagued, for hours at a time, with the fits Anakin had seen in the other passengers, made worse so by the medicine he was given. Though they were wearing on him, making him worry and doubt, Anakin refused to take his leave. 

 

Again, Master Luminara reminded him of such. “You should rest, now, young Skywalker. You are no use to your Master if left in a state of exhaustion far worse than his own.”

 

“I told you, I’m fine."

 

Blue eyes were glued to him, watching as Master Luminara checked Obi-Wan's temperature again, and he concentrated on their bond in the Force, trying like he knew Obi-Wan could to  _send_  feelings of calm and assurance to the distressed mind he sensed. Along with it, he whispered, “It’s okay, Master, it’s okay … it’s okay."

 

Anakin could not say for sure, but he knew it was more for his own benefit. Nothing so far had been able to get rid of the feeling in his gut, that empty feeling he knew was something worse than worry and more terrible a pain. He knew how frightening it was, to be lost inside of thoughts with no path of escape. He knew that if unable to fight past this, many died from the power of the delirium and fever. And he knew how lonely a death that seemed to be. 

 

As a baby, Anakin had had his mother to cling to in his fear, to hold him and settle him and hush him through it. Then, he knew he must do the same for Obi-Wan, to be his constant to cling to, his to hush and soothe. If he were here, he would be alright. He would. 

 

Even so, the questions in him would not quiet, though he wanted to scream back at them. 

 

_He’s going to survive! He has to, he has to!_ Anakin thought, edging a little more insistently through to their bond, _He has to -_

 

“Please, no … no more, please …"

 

The voice was feeble, but Anakin thought he sensed a flicker of awareness. Desperately, he called back, “Master! Master, it’s not real, it isn’t real!” 

 

His distraught tone was emphasized by a desperate look that Luminara tried to quell. Her hand went to the tensed shoulder reassuringly, but it was ignored. 

 

“Obi-Wan, don’t listen to it! Don’t listen to any of it!” 

 

“Padawan Skywalker - “

 

“Listen to me, Master, please, _please_ just - if he could just hear me, I could make it stop, I _know_ I could -“

 

“Padawan.”

 

Anakin turned back reflexively, knowing the voice was far too stern to warrant anything less than his full attention. Master Luminara stood both with the austere of a soldier at attention and the reserve of a high diplomat. It frightened him. Though, still, Obi-Wan’s pleading called out to him, he waited. He listened. 

 

“You cannot do anything. You cannot cause any of your Master’s suffering to cease, or ease his pain, or take away his fears. You do not have that power in you, and you will fail trying.” 

 

The words hurt him terribly. He cried out, “No, no you’re wrong - “

 

“You alone will fail, young one. But with the Force, you may do what you can to comfort him. You may, through your bond, be able to ease him. But you must trust in the Living Force, and its sovereign will. And you must trust in me.” 

 

Her gaze was focused fast on his own, dark and calming, and it broke the tension in him. Tears he didn’t even know were on his face at once. Anakin felt a hand on his shoulder again, and this time he let it stay there. 

 

“I need him to hear me, Master. He needs to know I’m here.”

 

“Root yourself in the Force, Padawan. If you are centred, he will sense you."

 

In a sudden clarity, Anakin considered the words. He surmised that maybe it had not been his mother alone who coaxed him through this sickness as a little one. Maybe, the Force had been there too. 

 

It was the Force that helped him recall a mantra his Master had taught him.

 

“Sincerely centred, serenely sure, and simply in the Force secure.” 

 

It was spoken aloud, without thought, and repeated again and again … 

* * *

_Not again, please not again!_

 

The image of Anakin above him forced its way into his terror, and though Obi-Wan could hear words, they were not real enough, not like the visceral sensation of terror that tore a hole through his gut, tore a hole like the one severed clean through Qui-Gon Jinn, through their bond in that moment, peeling back the fabric of their trust and memories and hopes and fears so meticulously woven together as if it were thinweave - 

 

"Sincerely centred, serenely sure … “

 

… _simply in the Force secure_. The words first spoken in the gentle tenor of his Master, followed by a familiar simper, and often a tweak on the nose. It had been hard for him to master, at first, often prone to lisping his words as an Initiate. Qui-Gon had always snickered at that - 

 

“Sincerely centred, serenely sure, and simply in the Force secure …”

 

Now, the voice was young like his had been, and familiar. It felt dear, somehow, and close enough to touch. The words felt more real, then. Furiously, Obi-Wan pushed back against the whirlwind of emotions bombarding him, summoning the Force in the glimpsing moments he could to calm himself. His awareness fought with the effects of the drugs in his system, and as powerful as they were, his stubborn intellect would not relent so simply. 

 

“Sincerely centred, serenely sure, and simply in the Force secure …”

 

This time, he sensed even clearer: Anakin. He reached, and felt him reach back to him, and he became sure. The visions in his mind, of loss and terror and the time past, were banished with the sensation of the young one at his side, around him, centring him exactly where he was. Exactly where he needed to be. 

 

“Sincerely centred, serenely sure, and simply - “

 

“… in the Force … secure."

 

“Obi-Wan!” 

 

The warmth around him was indiscernible, whether it the boy’s presence in the Force or really his arms embracing him; like usual, Obi-Wan assumed the latter.

 

“I knew it, I knew it! I knew if you knew I was here you’d hear me! I remembered you teaching me how to centre myself, during our first meditation session, and I even though I fell asleep I remembered the words you taught me because I didn’t really understand them but now I _get_ it, that if the Force and I are one then everything else will go away - worry and fear and anger and - and you, _you -“_

 

A pointed finger met his chest, and the tone levelled from its high sternly, “You should have told me you were sick! You’re not good at hiding it anyway, but you scared the fregging blazes out of me! Plus I had to clean up your puke, and it was everywhere!”

 

The rambling was partially lost in the haze of his consciousness, accompanied by Master Luminara’s laugh, and it was a wonderful sound. 

 

_I’m sure I deserve being scolded_ , he projected. Anakin responded, “I forgive you."

 

That childish innocence was something he would never tire of. Again, Obi-Wan felt the arms around him and knew for certain they were real. Weakly, he rested his hand atop the soft blonde hair, and remained there. Safe, and centred, the boy and himself and the Force. 

 

_Anakin?_

 

“What is it, Master?”

 

_I … I'm -_

 

“You don’t have to be sorry or anything. It’s okay - “

 

_No, I’m going to vomit again._

 

The boy leapt back with a shout, scrambling to put the sick bucket beneath Obi-Wan’s chin. And though his Master retched before him, skin pale and eyes darkened with exhaustion and weakened as ever, he smiled. 

 

Again, he smiled. 


End file.
